


Wrongly Right

by CocksAndClocks



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Eventual Sequel, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, No Smut, Qrow is poly and Oz isn't but it works, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Humor, Sexual Repression, Swearing, alcohol mention, mention of struggles with sexuality, ozqrow is endgame, past Qrow/Roman Torchwick, pretty sure we made up that ship tag, the other ship...go with it we promise it makes sense, thirst...so much thirst, this is like Pride and Prejudice but a lot gayer and honestly massively sillier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: Ozpin has wasted his youth in the closet, and as an established adult, he's determined to make up for lost time. Settling into a new relationship, he quickly discovers that dating isn't as simple as it looks. His partner's wild ex appears to disrupt Ozpin's attempts at domesticity, shattering the expectations of a quiet, respectable relationship. Could this new chaos prove the ruin of a stable relationship, or could it open the door to something more?OzQrow Week Day 3: Daylight/Nightfall
Relationships: Ozpin/Arthur Watts, Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 51
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “It is very unnerving to be proven wrong, particularly when you are really right and the person who is really wrong is proving you wrong and proving himself, wrongly, right.” ― Lemony Snicket, The Blank Book

At times, life can spring upon you the most unexpected pleasantries; for instance, waking to the intoxication of freshly brewed coffee smothering out the residual scent of last night’s unmentionable exploits.

Ozpin groped for his glasses, fingers sliding over the unfamiliar nightstand, brushing against the cufflink box, the sleek Bluetooth system, until his hands closed over his glasses. Sleepy eyes roved over the bedroom in the pale sunlight that managed to stream through charcoal-gray curtains and onto the plush silver rug – the only thing that made the bedroom modern rather than austere. 

_De gustibus non est disputandum._

Ozpin preferred the cozy vintage atmosphere of his own bedroom, but there was something to be said about the refreshment of change. Even if that change took over thirty years. 

Ozpin yawned and ran a hand through wild hair, slipping his feet onto the rug, regretting the necessity of leaving the warm bed for the coolness of the early autumn morning, and thinking that perhaps it was time to begin leaving some things here. In the meantime, he fit well enough in the wine-red bathrobe and slippers he found in the wardrobe (hung alongside several exact duplicates in a manner of impressive neuroticism).

Arthur sat at the kitchen, already showered and dressed, suit pristine, mustache smoothed into place, the newspaper open before him. Ozpin stepped carefully over the clear plastic that covered the kitchen renovations, trailing along the polished hardwood. The renovation was always something of an anomaly within Arthur Watts’ house; otherwise a fully modernized townhouse, the tarp covered several irregular holes in the wall that the doctor declined to explain, and Ozpin had not yet placed curiosity over his courtesy.

A damaged waterline, no doubt, or something equally innocuous. 

A question for another time, when the need for coffee was not quite so strong.

“Good morning,” Ozpin said.

Arthur lowered the paper enough to drag a slow stare up and down. “You should keep a robe here,” he drawled, lifting his coffee mug. “I much prefer you in green.”

Ozpin’s smile tugged at his lips as he opened the cupboard. “I had the very same thought,” he said.

“Of course. You have taste.”

Ozpin sat down at the table, content to let the remark stand without comment, happy to sip his coffee and watch Arthur’s eyes skim the headlines of the day as the sun outside lazily rose to meet the window. The hour was still early, for a Sunday at least, but the old habits of busy men were difficult to break.

 _Still,_ Ozpin thought absently, watching the yellow rays reflect off the silver in Arthur’s hair, _a lazy morning in bed would have been nice._

But that was a small thing amid all the wonderful things a proper relationship brought – companionship, fine dining, evenings spent at the theater, a warm body at night, quiet company over morning coffee. A common milestone for teenagers, and yet one he had been unwilling to try for far too long, until the loneliness overcame all the other qualms he had regarding his personal life. Now, watching Arthur roll his eyes at the sports section and continue on to the leisure page, Ozpin wondered what exactly he had been so very afraid of.

Arthur’s phone pinged, snapping Ozpin from his rose-tinted trance. Examining the name, Arthur released a muted scoff, ignoring the message as he grasped Ozpin’s unoccupied hand instead.

Ozpin smiled to himself. Both men were ruled by their joint dedication to their individual professions, making the gesture all the more romantic. He gave the hand in his a light squeeze, slipping back into the quiet reverie of a quiet Sunday morning.

The phone trilled, twice, thrice, until it became a relentless barrage of notifications. 

Arthur very pointedly ignored them all.

As much as he hated to shatter the atmosphere, and touched by the dedication to his guest, Ozpin conceded to the inevitable: Arthur was a doctor, and as such held power over many lives.

“Arthur, what if it’s important?”

“It is most decidedly not.”

“Oh?” Curiosity washed over him and his eyes strained to read the contact name on the phone as he sipped his coffee. A text message, the preview hidden, Arthur’s sense of privacy a necessity of his profession.

_Ping._

“Are you quite sure it’s not important?” Ozpin asked. “They seem to think it is.”

“Rest assured, my pet, it is nothing more than an irritating twat whom unfortunately acquired my number.”

Ozpin noted the annoyed timbre in Arthur’s voice, the airy pronunciation of such ugly words – a first sign of true anger.

_He speaks lightly of it, but it’s clearly a matter of contention._

This did little to ebb Ozpin’s curiosity. 

“May I ask who it is?”

“A man of no consequence, soon to be eliminated from my presence, and ultimately of no concern to you.”

“Really now,” Ozpin said, letting his curiosity meld into exasperation. “They’re interrupting my morning too.”

With a resigned sigh, Arthur swiped his phone unlocked, eyes rapidly scanning the messages before deft hands scrawled a rapid response (Ozpin was certain Arthur bit back a smirk, as though both amused by the messages and annoyed at the existence of whomever dared interrupt their breakfast). By the time the phone returned to the table, the screen was locked and black once more, Ozpin withdrawing in vague disappointment at the darkness.

“The issue will be resolved.”

“Thank you.” Ozpin said, but his eyes remained on the phone.

The polite thing to do, of course, was to let it lie as it was, let it be forgotten as the insignificant disruption it had been, and carry on with the morning.

And yet.

_Ping._

“Arthur, really,” Ozpin said, fully frustrated now. “Can’t you at least silence it? We get so little time together as it is.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered up to meet Ozpin’s for the first time that morning, the act void of the intimacy Ozpin sought to reclaim. He held the gaze for a moment, until – 

_Ping._

Arthur unlocked the phone and with swift fingers typed a response. He placed the phone on the table, index finger hovering over the red block button – long enough for Ozpin to read it – and then pressed it. He waved his hands over the phone, making a show of allowing Ozpin see the confirmation of “Blocked” notification.

Ozpin blinked at this dramatic display.

Arthur reading Ozpin’s face, gave a short sigh.

“That was my atrocious ex fling,” he said, with another airy wave of his hands, which returned to propping the paper in his hands. “The situation ended less than ideally as he was ill-mannered, irreverent, immature, and wholly unpleasant. To say he was a mistake would be an understatement so magnificent it should be unlawful.”

“I see.” Ozpin digested this piece of information. The thought of an ex so enthusiastically attempting to contact Arthur was, of course, unsettling, but Arthur _had_ just blocked the number, and his description of the other man gave less than no indication that he had any regrets about doing so.

Still, an ex.

_Well, everyone has exes._

Almost everyone.

“You seem concerned,” Arthur remarked, eyes hovering above the paper.

“No,” Ozpin said, shaking his head. “No, I never thought about you having an ex. I suppose that’s rather naïve of me.”

“It is,” he affirmed, shaking the paper to straighten its edges to immaculate points. “Surely you have a former lover or two whom you regretted ever setting eyes upon.”

Ozpin’s cheeks flushed at the comment.

_Surely._

“Ah,” he said, clearing his throat and reaching for his coffee. “No, I…was something of a late-bloomer. If one is counting regrets, that is mine.”

“So you will learn,” Arthur said, tilting his head as though pondering which information to divulge. “Let this be a lesson – the phrase ‘opposites attract,’ although minutely truthful on rare occasion, can only end in mutually assured destruction of both parties on a catastrophic level.”

“That’s rather dramatic,” Ozpin laughed. Arthur was naturally dramatic, from his almost neurotic cleanliness to his anachronistic mustache to his very speech – all of which were on Ozpin’s list of reasons for being attracted to him in the first place. 

But this seemed – 

“He’s the reason I am renovating.” Arthur gestured to the wall covered in plastic, masking the destruction in the otherwise pristine residence.

Ozpin’s eyes followed the motion, the abrupt chaos within a perfectly arranged home.

Arthur called it renovating. A polite word for an ex who punched holes in the wall.

_Perhaps my being a late-bloomer is a blessing in disguise._

“Then I am very happy that he’s been dealt with,” Ozpin said aloud.

“Indeed. Just be certain should you ever happen upon a rakish, overly-tattooed gigolo galivanting as if he owned the very stars in the night sky, make haste in the opposite direction with enthusiasm. Do not fall for his charms, or outrageous claims. Do not trust a word he utters, for a snake can wear many skins.” Arthur paused to sip the last of his morning coffee. “A music director may sound intriguing at first, until one comes to find his profession housed in the most unsavory gentleman’s club in Castro.”

_Gentlemen’s club? Ah._

There was naïve, and then there was _naïve,_ and Ozpin considered himself the former kind, even with his inexperience in romantic matters. A violent nightclub DJ with tattoos and bad manners was the very last sort of man that could possibly attract Ozpin; one wondered how such a man could have caught Arthur’s polished, distinguished eye in the first place.

Ozpin lifted his mug and glanced at the plastic tarp again.

_One wondered quite a few things about this mysterious ex._

But the explanation now given, Ozpin was inclined to think of the ex as little as possible, blocked, erased from the new life Arthur was living without him. Ozpin reclaimed Arthur’s hand and let the matter drop entirely, happier to sit in silence with coffee and company as the sun softly glowed through the windows.

*

Ozpin stepped onto the sidewalk with his arms full – French champagne in one hand and a pink bakery box balanced in the other – and promptly collided into the first man he saw.

“Apologies – ”

“Oh, shit, sorry – ”

A few more _I beg your pardons_ and _my bads_ murmured over the other and the stranger helped Ozpin regain the balance he had lost, warm hands on his as the bakery box was saved from a precarious fate.

“Thank you,” Ozpin said, almost holding his breath at the thought of the tiramisu splattered over the sidewalk.

“No problem,” the man said, and the wink that followed made Ozpin turn very warm.

_Oh no, he’s attractive._

That sort of thinking was automatic now, after so many years spent trying to deny and ignore it.

 _Closeted_ was the term.

Ozpin always thought the actual action was far more violent than it sounded.

But of course, he wasn’t closeted anymore – he was out (in a manner of speaking, to a few trusted friends like Glynda Goodwitch and her husband), and it was perfectly normal for people these days to be gay, and to be able to appreciate a handsome man on the street helping him carry his groceries.

Yes, he _did_ have a boyfriend, but a bit of harmless flirting didn’t hurt, did it?

_But how did one flirt?_

So many _firsts_ lately, at the ripe age of…twenty-nine.

_Ish._

“You’re too kind,” Ozpin said, eyes roving over the stranger’s high cheekbones, bright eyes above, crinkled at the corners, as if helping a stranger with a cake was a delight. Below that, deliberate scruff, the kind that might leave light burns if one kissed him hard enough –

_Easy, old man. Let’s not get carried away._

He coughed, quite aware of where the man’s hands trailed gently away from his.

“Yeah? How you gonna show me your appreciation?” the man said, his smile crooked and borderline shameless.

Shameless enough for Ozpin to feel his cheeks warm.

“Oh, I – ah – ”

The man laughed, the sound deep, lovely in its carelessness. “Just kidding. Where’re you headin’? I can carry somethin’ for you.”

“Just up the street, but you don’t have to – ”

“I know I don’t,” the man said, taking the box from Ozpin’s palm.

Another crooked smirk, and Ozpin blushed anew, unable to protest properly – whether out of shyness or excitement, he couldn’t be sure.

No one aside from Arthur had flirted with him before. Or perhaps they had, and Ozpin’s severe romantic reservations had prevented him acknowledging it.

He had missed so many things being in denial for so long.

“I’m Qrow, by the way,” the man said, as they began up the hill toward Arthur’s house.

“I’m indebted to you, Qrow. Ozpin.” He offered a hand and Qrow took it with a wonderfully firm grip, Ozpin’s eyes flickering up to where his sweatshirt cuff, pushed casually up to his forearm, boasted a number of tattoos – Ozpin could only make out the sheet music that crawled up his arm before he let go and it vanished once more beneath the sleeve.

“Indebted, huh? Might have to take me to coffee sometime. There’s this great café on Hyde that’s open til two am – “ 

“Oh, I – I’m sorry, I don’t mean to give the wrong impression,” Ozpin said, his face alighting again.

_Was this man asking him out?_

_This_ man?

Qrow glanced at him, cocking an eyebrow. “What impression you tryin’ to give?” he said, in a voice that positively _dripped –_

Well. _Something._

Ozpin clutched at the stem of the wine bottle.

 _You have a boyfriend,_ he reminded himself, a fact increasingly difficult to recall when Qrow said _that_ sort of thing in _that_ tone of voice. “Well, I – it’s terribly tempting – ”

A grown man, distinguished in his career, and yet this perfect stranger was stealing all the reason from his words.

“I have plans tonight,” he said, and immediately rebuked himself for an idiot.

“Tomorrow then?”

Ozpin looked at him helplessly.

_Why is it so tempting to have coffee with this man? I don’t even know him._

“I…I would love to, but the matter is that I – well. I think I have a boyfriend.”

_Think._

_I_ am _an idiot._

“You think?” Qrow laughed. “If you’re wondering, then it sounds like you’re still on the market.”

“We didn’t exactly – well, how does one _know?”_ Ozpin said, his words slipping from him the more Qrow gave him that look and laughed that laugh. “It’s been…implied.”

“Are you exclusive?”

Ozpin’s shoe caught an uneven pane of sidewalk and he stumbled, grasping tightly to the champagne.

Did people have that manner of conversation? Spell out the rules of the relationship?

“I – I just assumed…”

_They were, weren’t they? Arthur wasn’t seeing anyone else, was he?_

Qrow paused on the sidewalk, the cake safely cradled in his arms, his face turning with a new expression. 

_Concern?_

“You’re new to the San Francisco gay scene, aren’t you?”

Ozpin dropped his eyes, suddenly self-conscious under the stare. “I, ah…I’m rather new to…dating in general.”

“Oh, Jesus – look, ah… you should probably ask your fuck bu - I mean boyfriend - if you’re actually dating, for starters. Then if you are, whether you’re exclusive. This is San Francisco after all, and the dating scene here tends to be open unless clarified.”

“…I didn’t realize these things were so…” Ozpin let his voice trail, not knowing a polite word for what he wanted to say.

_Arthur isn’t like that. Is he?_

After all, they had only been dating a month.

Ozpin needed a proper guide on how to date at all, it seemed.

“Would you mind if I asked for your phone number?” Ozpin asked.

If Qrow’s raised brows were any indication, Ozpin thought he had asked the question in a foreign language. Just then, a smile soothed his concerns. “Keeping your options open? I like it…”

“Oh, I meant – ” Ozpin swallowed, his nerves and blush creeping up. 

_Would a man this attractive be interested in someone like me?_

“It’s just – as you said – I’m new to this sort of thing and you seem experienced – ”

_Hell._

“Not experienced as in _experienced,_ but that you – I’m really making a terrible mess of things – ”

Qrow’s warm laughter returned, easing the Ozpin’s nerves. Despite Ozpin’s words, Qrow motioned with an open palm for the man’s phone. Ozpin obliged, placing it in his hand, watching Qrow type his own number in, the trill from the man’s back pocket proving the validity of the action.

_Is getting a man’s number this simple? This easy?_

Of course, this was for educational purposes. Not for anything tawdry.

Ozpin accepted his phone back, Qrow’s fingers lingering too long, trailing softly over Ozpin’s palm, the professor’s blush rising again.

_…tawdry…_

“You really _are_ new to dating.” Qrow grinned, as though he could read all the conflict on Ozpin’s face and was thoroughly amused by it. “Look, if you have questions, feel free to hit me up. No pressure. I work a night job, so weird hours are fine, and I’m addicted to coffee, so day time works too. We’ll go out to that café I mentioned – your treat ‘cause I’m broke – and in exchange, I’ll teach you what you need to know to survive the lion’s den, deal?”

“I would appreciate that,” Ozpin said, pocketing his phone again. “More than I can say. I don’t have friends that I can – well. They’re straight.”

“You’ve been closeted your whole life, huh?” Ozpin felt Qrow’s eyes roam over his body head to toe, the professor fighting the flip of his stomach. “Because of your profession?” Qrow mused to himself. “And personal choice,” he concluded. 

“How did you – ”

“You have a lot to catch up on, Oz. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? Anyway, Oz, if I don’t hear from you in two days, I’ll give you a call to make sure you survive the exclusive interrogation. This is my stop.”

They had paused in front of Arthur’s house – a classic San Francisco Victorian townhouse, bone white trim against cream paneling, brick steps leading up to a set of chic doors in black, the lit porch light caged in some modern geometric design.

“Your – ” Ozpin blinked at Qrow, then at the number on the house. “But…”

“But what?”

“This is my stop as well.”

Qrow’s eyes narrowed, skeptical as he glanced at the townhouse, then back at Ozpin. A realization crossed his face, his lips thinning. 

“This isn’t your boyfriend’s is it?” Qrow ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

Ozpin watched the sleeve of Qrow’s worn sweatshirt slip down his arm, the lines of his tattoos peeking through.

_It can’t be._

“…do you know Arthur?” he asked at length.

“Ah, _fuck.”_ Qrow gave a long, frustrated sigh. “Unfortunately. Look, when things go down, gimme a call. You’re cute, Oz. You deserve better.”

_Cute?_

Ozpin paused with his key in hand, the flattering compliment registering before the rest of Qrow’s words.

When things _go down?_

“What in the world does that mean?” Ozpin said, as he turned the key.

_Arthur certainly isn’t the easiest person, but there’s no need for that kind of remark._

“I’m sorry for whatever you’re about to see,” Qrow replied pushing up his sleeves further and dropping his hood from his peripheral – his tattoos now on prominent display. Names, music scores, and the like covered his arms like a sleeve, creeping up out of his shirt onto his neck.

Tattoos.

_Oh no._

Within an instant, Qrow had shoved the cake back into Ozpin’s hands, using the gesture to slip past and vanish into the house, Ozpin reeling with too many revelations and surprises at once.

The tattooed ex.

Loose in Arthur’s house.

_“I’m sorry for whatever you’re about to see.”_

The holes in Arthur’s kitchen.

_OH NO._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow comes face to face with Arthur and Pandora's box opens; Ozpin is put in the middle and sees new sides to them both.

Ozpin struggled with the door and cake and wine, sprinting upstairs as quickly as his burden would allow, ears picking up the first sign of voices as he crept nearer to the doorway.

“Branwen,” Arthur’s voice floated from around the corner. “How unfortunate to see you.”

Arthur’s voice dripped sardonic courtesy, the inflection Ozpin recognized when he was forced to speak to someone he considered beneath him. Ozpin hated that tone – it made for awkward social events when Arthur would inevitably walk away, leaving Ozpin to make profuse apologies for his partner’s lack of manners. 

A conversation had one too many times, a tone that set Ozpin’s teeth on edge.

Still – this was the ex that had harassed Arthur in the past, so perhaps this once, Arthur’s temper could be excused.

“Cut the crap. Where’s my stuff?” 

Ozpin reached the kitchen doorway and loitered just out of sight, watching as Qrow scanned the room, uprooting obstacles in his path.

“Uncouth as always, I see,” Arthur drawled. “Do mind the drapes, I just had them dry cleaned.”

“Where _is_ it?!” Qrow demanded, advancing toward the doctor.

“To which piece of refuse are you referring, darling? All your cheap trinkets, or the dilapidated rags you call clothes?

“You know _damn_ well what I – ”

“I threw it out.”

“You _WHAT –_ ” Qrow looked half-wild, fists clenching as though he meant to strike Arthur.

“I threw it out, along with the rest of your possessions. The stench threatened to overcome my candytufts.”

“God forbid your stupid _fucking_ flowers die – ” Qrow growled through gritted teeth, wrenching the cabinet doors open, tossing boxes and dry groceries from shelves. He moved onto the trash can, ripping the lid free and kicking the can over, garbage spilling over Arthur’s polished floors.

Ozpin’s mouth dropped open, but Arthur didn’t even flinch. In fact, he wore an amused expression on his face, as though Qrow’s desperate violence was a form of entertainment, even at the expense of Arthur’s home. It wasn’t until Qrow passed by the kitchen doorway and Arthur’s eyes fell on Ozpin that the enjoyment faded, the realization that Ozpin was a witness to this debacle fading his expression to something cold, indecipherable. 

_”Qrow,_ ” Arthur warned. “Contain yourself. It was nothing more than a broken toy – ”

“When did you throw it out?!” Qrow frantically bellowed, jumping across the garbage he had strewn about.

“Oh for – I do not recall.”

“Bullshit,” Qrow hissed, inching up to Arthur’s face. 

Arthur turned away, covering the nostril closest to Qrow with the back of his hand as if Qrow’s scent offended him.

“Where _is it?”_ Qrow seethed, punctuating each word by thrusting his fingers into Arthur’s chest with enough force to move the man.

Ozpin stood in the doorway, frozen.

_Should I intervene?_

“I do hate repeating myself,” Arthur drawled calmly.

“Fuck you.”

“Language.”

“You wouldn’t have told me to come here if you threw it out.” Qrow made a fist and moved to strike. Ozpin took a desperate step forward, uncertain of what he could even do to stop it, flinching when Qrow’s fist hit the wall by Arthur’s head, the wall cracking under the force.

A long silence fell, Ozpin’s heart in his throat, his fingers clenching the doorframe. Qrow remained with his fist against the cracked paint, Arthur regarding him coolly.

“Arthur,” Ozpin managed at length. “Perhaps we should help.”

“Assist with what, dearest? The cab fare to the nearest mental institution would be incredulous at this hour. He can manage on foot.”

Ozpin’s jaw tightened. Arthur was being deliberately stubborn now, feeding the fire. 

“If you threw it out recently, perhaps we could – ”

“Oh, I threw it out _ages_ ago,” Arthur said, with a wave of his hand, stepping around Qrow, arms outstretched toward Ozpin as though in protection.

“If it’s something we could replace – ”

“You _CAN’T!”_ Qrow cursed, violently throwing a decorative pillow at the bookshelves, knocking over an expensive vase. Ozpin watched as it fell with an almost exaggerated slowness, wincing at the crash of ceramic on the hardwood.

Instantly, Arthur whirled, his face devoid of amusement, eyes flashing. 

“You will replace that.” His voice chilled the room.

“Fuck you! Go get it from Chinatown yourself, bitch.”

“That was a Yuan dynasty piece, you uncultured swine!”

“If we could all just _calm down_ for a moment,” Ozpin interjected.

“I only see _one_ loose cannon here,” Arthur snapped. “Not that I _can’t_ afford another vase – ”

“For heaven’s sake, Arthur, you’re only provoking him – ”

“I don’t recall letting him in to destroy my house again,” Arthur countered, and Ozpin’s indignation wilted.

“He – he just sort of barged in when I unlocked the door…”

“My point exactly,” Arthur said. “He’s lucky I haven’t phoned the police yet.”

“What are you looking for?” Ozpin asked, turning to where Qrow stood, running nervous hands through his hair.

“It’s – it’s an action figure. Of Mozart.”

“…Mozart?” Ozpin repeated, blinking.

“Yeah, the composer. I know how it sounds, but I gotta have it back.”

“It’s worthless,” Arthur drawled. “They sell them on Amazon for ten dollars.”

“Not the fuckin’ _point,_ douchebag!” Qrow snarled. He took a menacing step forward and Ozpin automatically stepped between them, bracing himself as Qrow collided with him for the second time that night. The chilled wine slipped from slick fingers, striking the floor with an explosion of carbonation, Ozpin holding onto the bakery box with such strength that he felt the corners crush beneath his arm.

“Now I _am_ calling the police,” Arthur said, his voice icy. “Ozpin, pet, see if you can’t soak that up before it damages the floors.”

“Fuck this,” Qrow murmured, brushing past them both. “Good luck with him, Oz,” he shouted over his shoulder. “You’re gonna fuckin’ need it.”

The door below slammed shut, and the house fell into an uneasy silence. Ozpin watched the fizz of the expensive champagne begin to die, his hands shaking at the violence of the evening.

“What did he mean by that?” Arthur asked, almost bored by the question. “What did he tell you?”

“Just…” Ozpin swallowed, steadying himself against the kitchen table, his heart still racing. “Just the sorts of things you said he would. I’m sorry for letting him in.”

The weight of Arthur being so very right about falling for an attractive face and charming persona caused his shoulders to slump, feeling – not for the first time that evening – that he was a perfect fool.

_I’m too old to be this naïve._

Arthur’s sneer softened and he gave a dramatically short sigh. “Never mind that, dearest. That’s his _modus operandi._ If I fell for it, there really was no help for you.”

Ozpin placed the crushed bakery box on the table, regarding it sadly.

“Why don’t you go change into one of my robes again,” Arthur continued, “and I’ll clean this up. Then we’ll forget that man ever darkened this house.”

“Thank you,” Ozpin said, relieved. The wine might be on the floor and the tiramisu slightly askew, but at least it was over. Arthur might find a bottle of something in the wine refrigerator, and eventually, maybe they could laugh all this off.

_Maybe._

“I would like that.”

He stepped over the puddle and made his way to the bedroom, shaking the negativity from his head – or attempting to.

There remained a growing inclination not to believe everything he had just witnessed.

Arthur _had_ been right about his ex – Qrow was friendly, overly charming, but also coarse and violent and seemingly irrationally angered over a toy that he could easily replace. He broke into Arthur’s house, harassed Arthur by phone until his number was blocked – things that led to restraining orders.

Arthur was right about every aspect of Qrow, from this view.

And yet.

Ozpin’s intuition remained alarmed.

Even worse, that alarm was thoroughly Arthur’s fault.

He couldn’t explain it – Arthur had every reason to be mean – cruel even – to a man who had just broken into his house and punched yet another hole in his wall.

And yet Ozpin felt quite unnerved by it.

_Perhaps I was wrong to think dating was a good idea at all._

Ozpin sighed, shaking his head and opening the wardrobe for a robe. Of course, this was all likely just nerves, shaken by the fracture of his usually quiet life. Arthur had been good to him, and an admittedly violent ex shouldn’t be enough to shake that.

Arthur’s slippers were missing, likely in the closet, and so Ozpin dragged the door open as his mind remained a nest of unrest. 

The slippers were indeed in the closet, and so Ozpin reached down for them, eyes falling on a cardboard box just behind them. Odd, considering that Arthur was a stickler for aesthetic, and Ozpin doubted cardboard storage had been in the house since he moved in.

He pulled the box forward, finding the sides unmarked. Curiosity overcoming him, he cautiously opened it.

Clothes that were decidedly un-Arthur-like, a worn black bathrobe, and –

An action figure.

Ozpin stared at it for a long moment, his mind unable to fully register what this meant.

Without thinking, he seized the figure, dropping the slippers and heading back into the kitchen.

“What is this?”

Arthur looked up from where he knelt on the floor, shirtsleeves rolled up as he finished cleaning up the spilled wine.

He gave another dramatic sigh, as though Ozpin had asked a particularly stupid question.

“You lied to him,” Ozpin said. “You said you threw out everything.”

“Perhaps I forgot.”

“Don’t lie to _me,_ Arthur.”

“He made my life a living hell for weeks,” Arthur said, barely suppressing a roll of his eyes. “Are you really going to begrudge me for having a bit of fun on his behalf?”

“Arthur, for whatever reason, this toy is valuable to him. You have an entire box of his things, but this is all he asked for.”

“Because he’s _insane,_ darling. I’m telling you – he put holes in my walls. He frightened me every night he stayed over.”

_This isn’t what it seems._

“I’m not sure you’ve been afraid of anyone in your life,” Ozpin said. He seized the bakery box and put the figure atop it, turning to the doorway. “I need to think about this.”

“Oh, for the love of – Ozpin, come back.”

“Let me have some time,” Ozpin said, brushing past him.

“You’re letting him play the victim,” Arthur called, as Ozpin went downstairs. “You’ll come to your senses soon enough!”

Ozpin slammed the front door behind him, the chilly ocean air hitting his face. He looked around – it had only been a few minutes, but he couldn’t be sure which way Qrow had gone.

_He gave me his number._

Ozpin struggled with the box as he fished his phone from his pocket, redialing the unfamiliar number.

“What?” came the annoyed snap on the receiving line.

“Oh.” Ozpin, of course, had not actually planned what to say, instead only knowing that it was important to say whatever it was in a timely fashion. “Qrow, I – which direction did you go? I believe I have something that belongs to you.”

Ozpin heard a rustle as if checking his caller ID, before Qrow replied, “Ozpin?”

“Yes. I’m very sorry to bother you, but I assume this is important to you, if you were willing to break and enter.”

“Break and enter? You let me in.”

“I did _not._ You just pushed your way – ”

“I didn’t break the lock. I entered ‘cause he told me to come by to get my shit. If he is going to press charges, he’s full of – ”

“He’s not,” Ozpin interrupted, impatient with the continued arguing. “At least, he doesn’t…think you’re worth that effort.”

There was a pause, followed by a resigned sigh. “Up the hill. Hang a left. I’ll meet you on the corner."

“All right.” Ozpin disconnected, glancing back at the house, the upstairs lights on, the door quiet.

Arthur wouldn’t chase him.

He couldn’t decide if the thought was disappointing or reassuring.

Ozpin clutched at the crushed bakery box and began up the hill.

*

When Ozpin had woken that morning, the last place he expected to be was on the beach off Hyde Street, sitting in the cold sand with his lover’s ex-boyfriend, sharing spiked coffee and a very sad-looking tiramisu.

Still, things could have – somehow – been worse.

“…can I ask the obvious question?” Ozpin said, as they watched the high tide roll slowly in.

“Yeah, I’m single.” Qrow offered a wink in his direction.

“You’re an intolerable flirt,” Ozpin said, annoyed, “so that much was obvious. I meant – why is that figure so important?”

Qrow shrugged, cracking open the miniature alcohol bottle and pouring it into the coffee. He took a long sip, the scent of whiskey drifting upward. He handed the coffee to Ozpin.

“It belongs to my niece, Yang,” Qrow began, playing with the figure, rotating it in his fingertips gently. “Sort of a good luck charm until I make it home to visit again.” The figure wore a handmade sling, Qrow fiddling with the doll’s wounded arm absently. “She and her sister, Ruby, were rough housing one day and the arm broke off. She threw the biggest fit, I mean you would have thought someone’d died… then a week later I’ll be damned if she didn’t break her own arm in the same fuckin’ spot.”

Ozpin prodded the crooked cake with a plastic fork. Crushed or not, it still melted in his mouth, swallowing it with a sip of hot coffee, the sting of whiskey more than welcome after the events of the night.

“She seemed to think that meant it had special powers or something. Prediction, karma, what have you. When I told her I was coming back to the city, she insisted I take it with me so I would know if bad things were gonna happen.” Qrow sighed, ruffling his hair agitatedly, as if contemplating how superstitious and silly his story sounded. “Anyway, she’d kill me if I didn’t bring it back.”

“Oh.” It was deeper than the obvious – which was obvious enough, as no _sane_ person would be that upset over a ten-dollar toy – and yet the depth of emotional family connection was the last thing Ozpin expected from a seemingly nomadic character.

“I’m sorry it took so long to return it,” he said, uncertain what else he could say.

“I got it back. That’s all that matters,” Qrow replied, safely tucking the figure into his pocket. “My turn. So why the hell are you dating Arthur Watts?”

“Ah.” A valid enough question, Ozpin supposed, but one that suddenly felt unwelcome. Twelve hours ago, everything seemed to make a lot more sense. “We met at a conference. Biochemistry. I teach it. Beacon University. He liked my research talk, and we just…kept talking.”

He shifted in the sand, wincing at the thought of it grinding into his slacks.

“Until we didn’t.”

Qrow snorted a laugh. “Does he demand crazy shit from you too?”

“Crazy?” Ozpin took another bite of cake, licking cream from his upper lip. “Well, he’s rather particular, I suppose, but that’s not uncommon, is it?”

Now Qrow snorted in earnest. “Arthur Watts wants a slave, not a boyfriend. He keeps picking people up at the wrong places. He needs to just go to a BDSM club and get it over with.”

Ozpin blinked, the blush following soon after. “I don’t think it’s…quite like _that.”_

“Oh?” Qrow asked, genuinely surprised. “He must be going easy on you. Or not find you that interesting.” He took the coffee back from Ozpin, taking a long drink.

Ozpin’s blush deepened – more out of insult than embarrassment. “You seem to know him quite well for someone who only dated him for a few weeks,” he said, the tone defensive.

“Yep.” The syllable was quiet, confident.

“Regardless,” Ozpin said, the word coming out more harshly than intended, “I’d rather not discuss my sex life.”

“’Cause you know it’d be better with me.”

Ozpin choked on his coffee, his face hot. “I - I _never_ insinuated – ”

“You were eye-fucking me the second you bumped into me,” Qrow announced, an insufferable grin spreading across his lips.

“I – ” Ozpin broke off his own protest, too aghast at the accusation to formulate words. “I was being _polite.”_

“By _not_ saying that you were undressing me with your eyes while I stood on the street? If that’s being polite, I have more manners than I thought.”

Oh, his smugness was intolerable, and for a moment, Ozpin understood Arthur’s extreme distaste of him.

“I bumped into you,” Ozpin said hotly, “and I simply apologized for that. Nothing more.”

“And now you’re on a date on the beach with a heathen your boyfriend warned you against.”

_Ah._

“Yes, well.” Ozpin sighed, regarding the half-eaten tiramisu. “I have some…reservations regarding his version of what happened, despite your abysmal behavior tonight. Given that you were right about him having your belongings…I have some things to think about.” He raised the spiked coffee to his lips again, the tradeoff for the plastic fork automatic now. 

“Speaking of which, I have to wonder what _you_ ever saw in Arthur. You two are so opposed in every way, it seemed doomed from the start.”

Qrow shrugged. “We knew it wasn’t going to last. I needed a place to crash, and he was curious how lowly peasants like me lived. An experiment, he called it.”

“Oh.” Ozpin glanced at Qrow, curious about the circumstances that would lead to that kind of arrangement. “Do you not live with your family?”

“Nope. Tried it for a while to help out with the girls, but wasn’t my style. Once they got settled, I got out. Returned to life here,” he said, gesturing to the empty beach.

“Are you implying that you’re not living anywhere?” Ozpin asked, the coffee frozen just below his lips.

“Not living anywhere? I’m living in the _moment.”_

“Qrow.” The lecture tone came out naturally, fueled by habit and the exasperation of a champagne and cake date night quite enthusiastically thrown out the window. “You can’t just…live on the streets.”

“I don’t ‘live on the streets.’ I stay with friends. Good friends.”

“I certainly hope so,” Ozpin said, taking a sip of his coffee, the whiskey warm in his stomach. “Despite how things ended with you and Arthur, I would loathe to think you were sleeping in the cold.”

“Not most nights,” he said taking another heaping gulp of his spiked coffee.

Ozpin let the remark pass despite his disapproval; Qrow didn’t want his help or his pity. “Arthur said you were a DJ. Well,” he added, with a shrug, “he said something rather unflattering and vague and I pieced it together.”

“I am a DJ. Successful too. Two years away, and The Flaming Cock welcomed me back with opens arms.” Qrow motioned with his own hands, as though offering an embrace.

Ozpin choked, warm coffee dripping over his fingers. “The – the _what?”_

“The Flaming Cock. What’s the matter? Never been to a gay bar before?” Qrow spoke so easily about things that Ozpin still couldn’t bring himself to discuss except in private – and a beach, empty or not, did not meet the requirements of privacy.

Ozpin shot him a very pointed look. “I _told_ you. These things…take time.”

“You could die tomorrow. Experiment while you can, find what you like, and enjoy life…” Qrow shifted in the sand, giving Ozpin a long up and down. 

Ozpin looked at the ocean, willing his blush to die.

“You should come see me in action sometime,” Qrow said, with a smirk that Ozpin could almost call charming.

“You mean,” Ozpin said, deliberately ignoring the weight of Qrow’s eyes and the twist of his stomach those eyes caused, “go to a gay club.”

“Fabulous idea. I concur. Ooo, what about Thong Thursday? That’s when we wear – ” Qrow cut himself off, catching Ozpin’s glare. He giggled to himself. “Maybe not. But a regular night, sure. What d’you say?”

“I hardly know what to expect. Or how to dress, or act, or – ” Ozpin let the rest of the list remain unspoken, the next flip of his stomach in anticipation of being in a place where his very presence placed a spotlight on the part of him he had for so long kept locked away.

Qrow took a bite of cake, watching Ozpin closely.

“…you would come with me?” Ozpin said at length.

Qrow grinned. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere! Yeah, I’ll come. If you want, sure.”

“I do,” Ozpin said quickly. 

Qrow’s grin morphed into a smirk, and Ozpin dropped his eyes, blushing for too many reasons.

And yet, he was unwilling to back down from this. 

“I just don’t think I could do something like that alone,” he said. “And Arthur – he isn’t interested in that sort of thing. He’s…confident about – about who he is.”

Qrow made a cartoonish face at Arthur’s name. 

“Arthur’s got a stick up so far up his ass I was surprised when I saw he could bend over,” he said, waving off the subject. “Fuck him. You should do what _you_ wanna do. And if that is explore your newfound attractions with a sexy ass stranger who may or may not be stable, then do it.”

Ozpin managed a laugh, the blush still keeping him warmer than the whiskey. “I – I didn’t say that,” he said, his protests sounding weaker by the minute.

“Come on, I bet I can woo you with six songs or less.” Qrow rolled up his sleeves, an action Ozpin would have called careless if not for the reveal of half-hidden tattoos.

“I don’t recall ever saying I was attracted to you,” Ozpin said, even as his eyes followed the new bits of flesh that Qrow exposed.

Qrow smirked. “Call it intuition. I have to be able to read a crowd, but it’s a hell of a lot more fun reading you.”

Ozpin turned away, his face warm. “I’m sure you say that to a lot of men. Or perhaps not. I’ve heard a much…different account of you from what I consider to be an unreliable source. He mentioned your tattoos, but I admit they’re not what I expected.”

“Oh yeah? What did you expect?” Qrow pulled the sleeves up higher, rotating his arms to show them off.

“I’m not sure.” Ozpin’s eyes followed the reveal of skin automatically, fingers twitching with the quiet desire to touch the art, bits of sheet music and other designs he still couldn’t see in their entirety. “Arthur painted you as some tawdry sort of person, so I suppose I thought something vulgar.”

“Heh. They all mean somethin’. I’ll have to explain them to you some time. Well, they aren’t _all_ wholesome, I guess. This isn’t even all of them. I’ve got one on my back ‘n’ I don’t even know what it says.”

“What on earth do you mean? How could you not know what it says?”

“One, it’s on my back. Two, it’s in a foreign language. Three, I was drunk when I got it. I don’t even think they got to finish it before I fell out of the chair, too much a noodle to work on.”

“…you must be kidding.”

“Nah.” Qrow twisted and pulled up his sweatshirt, a cursive print on the small of his back.

“Oh,” Ozpin said, pausing to study the lettering. “It’s supposed to be _carpe diem._ It means ‘seize the day.’”

“What does mine say?”

“They only got as far as adding the letter D.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Well, as it’s written now, it’s simply ‘seize the – ’” Ozpin broke off the explanation, hearing the innuendo too late.

Qrow’s eyes grew wide, and then –

He doubled over laughing, hugging his knees. “I fucking love it. Seize the D! Seize the DICK! On a fucking tramp stamp!” He wheezed, his body shaking when his laugh devolved into a faint rasp.

“I couldn’t have planned it better if I was sober. Fuck! That is _officially_ my best drunk story.”

Ozpin stared – it was impossible that someone should actually _prefer_ their tattoo so incomplete, the meaning so twisted. And yet a smile pulled at his lips as he watched Qrow laugh until he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. Ozpin let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“So when you gonna let me carpe your – ”

_“Qrow.”_

“Mm,” Qrow said, smirking. “That your professor voice? Kinda hot.”

“Don’t,” Ozpin said, but he had to turn away because he could not bite back the smile from his face. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

“Do you?”

Now the smile did fade, Ozpin dropping his eyes to the coffee in his hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “I walked out, and I…don’t know how to feel about Arthur after this. I don’t know how to feel about _any_ of this.”

Qrow tapped the plastic fork against the bakery box. “Yeah, look. Full disclosure. I think Arthur’s a fuckin’ prick, but I _am_ sorry you got dragged into our shit. You seem like a nice guy.”

“Thank you.”

“And – uh. I’m probably oversteppin’ but.” Qrow shrugged. “You could do better. And I don’t mean that as a joke or a line to get in your pants. I mean in general. You’re nice and shit, and if you eased up on the repressed professor look, I’d think you’d be pretty hot. You don’t need to slum with someone like Arthur fuckin’ Watts. Just remember that if things don’t work out.”

Ozpin looked at him, lips parted in surprise.

_Qrow isn’t what I expected at all._

“Thank you,” Ozpin said again, his voice softened by the kind words. “I appreciate your candor. And for the record…” He paused, choosing his words carefully as he took another long sip of Irish coffee. “I wasn’t eye-fucking you, but I _had_ gotten to the eye-foreplay.”

Qrow grinned.

“Oh yeah? How was I?” he asked, reclining against the sand, propped on his free arm. Had he not been holding tiramisu in the other, the languid blatant display of his body would push toward _suggestive._

_To be honest, an attractive man holding cake was nothing but an improvement upon an attractive man alone._

“Immodest and immoral, I hope?” Qrow finished, winking as he brought the fork back up to his mouth, making an elaborate show of licking cream from his lips.

“You’re not as smooth as you think you are,” Ozpin said, managing a laugh even as he reached up to loosen his collar. “And I’m dismayed to admit that’s a great deal of your appeal. You really don’t care what other people think, do you?”

“Nope. Life’s too short to give a shit. If I wasted my time worryin’ about what others thought a me, I’d miss out on the good stuff – like getting buzzed and eating cake on the beach at sunset with a hot professor.” 

“You say things like that and I’m so inclined to think you’re lying,” Ozpin murmured. “But I appreciate the compliments all the same. Perhaps one day they won’t embarrass me so.”

“The guy who gets you there will be pretty lucky,” Qrow said. “Look, I gotta get going. I have a set at the club tonight. But I’ll text you, okay? Just to check in, make sure Arthur hasn’t killed you and dissolved you in a tub of acid.”

“Don’t be mean,” Ozpin said, pressing his lips together to avoid smiling.

“My bad. He probably cannibalizes his mates when he gets sick of them.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Gonna text you anyway,” Qrow said, standing and brushing sand from long legs. “And remember – you said you’d come to the club soon. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“I promise,” Ozpin said, the idea of it considerably less threatening with Qrow by his side.

Qrow gave him a wave and sauntered back toward the sideway, Ozpin watching him go, listening to the waves and the seagulls who circled at the sight of a bakery box on the beach. There was something effortless in Qrow, the ease in which he simply _was,_ without consulting those around him for approval. Ozpin took a last bite of cake and closed the box, eyes drifting up to see Qrow in the distance, stopping to hand a panhandler some change. He said something and their combined laughter carried over the breeze, ruffling Ozpin’s hair.

Effortless.

For a moment, Ozpin considered running after him, a fool’s notion of what love could be – wild and impulsive and based on little more than laughter and the warmth of welcome acceptance. But he remained in the sand, finishing the last of the Irish coffee, and steeled himself to find closure instead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozpin confronts Arthur regarding Qrow; Qrow tries to shake Ozpin from his mind.

Ozpin stood in front of Arthur’s black doors for too long, a thousand scenarios running through his mind. 

_A month._

He sighed miserably, tightening his fingers, the house key digging into his palm.

_My first relationship, over after just one month._

It wasn’t over explicitly, of course – that’s why Ozpin was here, again, after spending and hour and a half on a beach with Arthur’s ex-boyfriend, sharing tiramisu and whiskey. Ozpin was here because he owed Arthur closure.

No, he owed _himself_ closure. 

Ozpin was almost certain that Arthur wouldn’t apologize. Would he sneer at Ozpin’s return? Laugh at him for sympathizing with someone so beneath him as Qrow Branwen? Or – maybe, just maybe, Arthur had spent the last hour missing Ozpin, waiting for him to come back.

Ozpin almost scoffed. As far as fantasies went, that was the most fantastic of them.

He longed for the morning, when he woke up in Arthur’s bed and shared coffee and everything was much simpler. But of course, it hadn’t actually been simple; Ozpin just didn’t know Arthur well enough to realize. 

_Communication is key._

That was the tired cliché spouted by every relationship therapist, every advice columnist. But knowing what Ozpin did now – that Arthur was willing to willfully lie and hide the legal property of an ex (Qrow Branwen’s alleged and visible wildness notwithstanding) –

Could Ozpin trust a man like that? What would happen if things went badly between Arthur and himself?

Ozpin knew the answer as he turned the key for the second time that night. The upstairs lights were still on, Arthur’s habits unshakable even after such a violent argument. He closed the door behind him quietly, making his way up the stairs to the kitchen for a conversation he dreaded. 

Arthur was at the kitchen table, a stack of neat papers in front of him. Biochemistry, or one of his medical journals, no doubt; Ozpin knew he liked to stay informed of current research. “Ah, Ozpin. I see you’ve come to your senses.”

Ozpin paused in the doorway. Had Arthur waited up for him? Possibly, given his flair for the dramatic. But somehow the action didn’t feel like a distraught lover waiting to apologize for his actions.

It felt like a moment to gloat.

“I believe I have,” Ozpin said quietly. He stepped into the kitchen but didn’t sit, preferring the physical distance between them. 

Arthur pushed his journal articles away, instead grasping his evening tea – lavender and lemon balm, his nightly routine – and crossed his legs with slow, deliberate ease. “Then have a shower, darling. I am certain wherever you traipsed off to following that filth has sullied more than just your sense of reason.”

Ozpin had expected Arthur to avoid apologizing, but the severity of his words struck him harder than even his worse predictions. Ozpin might not know what had happened between Arthur and Qrow, but the lack of dignity, of humanity, was shocking to hear in Arthur’s cool, composed tones. Arthur’s composure under stress was one of the reasons Ozpin had first been attracted to him; now it felt cruel, infuriating.

“I don’t think I’ll be staying,” Ozpin said quietly. “I came to gather the rest of his things and see…where that may leave us.”

“Don’t be silly,” Arthur sighed deeply, deliberately, and smiling – no smirking – as if correcting an erred child. “I can have the box hand-delivered tomorrow, if you insist. A gift of your compassion.”

“I – ” Ozpin’s mouth grasped for a response, a single word. Relief fluttered in his gut. “Would you?” he asked, unable to keep the hope from his voice.

“Yes, yes. If it means that much to you. It is decidedly better than having you wonder the city at all hours of the night in search of a vagrant.”

“You – ” Ozpin spluttered, his hope disintegrating in the renewed fire of indignation. “You really cannot fathom having the slightest amount of empathy toward him, can you?”

“He devastated not only my décor, priceless possessions, and the very structure of my home, but also my faith in misguided youth. He tested my generous hospitality in every _conceivable_ aspect. He has done less than naught to earn my empathy, or my basest sympathy. I cannot fathom what he has done to earn _yours,_ my dear.” He gave an obvious glance down at Ozpin’s crotch before lifting his eyes languidly, sipping his tea.

Ozpin’s mouth fell open now, cheeks flushing hotly at the implication at the shock that Arthur would even _suggest –_

“He didn’t – _I_ didn’t – ” Ozpin shut his mouth with the click of his jaw, a hand running over his lips, feeling the heat of his face. 

_Stay calm, stay calm._

_His arguments feed off emotion._

Ozpin was not a hot-headed man, but in this moment, he could suddenly appreciate Qrow putting holes in Arthur’s walls.

“I do not mean to excuse his actions,” Ozpin said through grit teeth. “Nor am I asking you to even forgive him for what he’s done. But I also don’t think his actions justify you keeping something from him that he held dear for obviously sentimental reasons. I don’t see that requesting you have a sense of common _decency_ toward him is worth my taking your verbal abuse either.” 

“’Verbal abuse?’ I was simply asking a question, my pet. Here I agreed to your demands, and you accuse me of abuse? I must say, that is a leap of logic I cannot follow, but please, do enlighten me.”

“You made an implication,” Ozpin said, as evenly as he could manage, “that my sympathy was somehow bought. Qrow didn’t offer me anything except a frank conversation. All I wanted to do was return that doll so he would have peace and hopefully leave us to ours!”

“And so he shall. He and his possessions will be safely detached from our lives. Tomorrow morning, I will have his possessions taken to his usual place of…questionable employment – as I am sure you have gathered, it would be impossible to determine his migrations – and that will be the end of the stain of Qrow Branwen.”

“Thank you,” Ozpin said. He hardly knew what he was feeling at all now, relief that this wasn’t a blow-up argument, grateful that Arthur hadn’t insulted him again, irate that Arthur had insulted him at all. He wanted the conversation to end, to take the shower Arthur offered, curl up in bed and pretend in the morning that this all had been a long, terrible dream.

He was exhausted; everything else was buried beneath it.

“Where does that leave us?” he asked wearily.

“Warming my evening tea while you alleviate your tension in the shower.”

_Could I just wash this all away?_

Ozpin sagged against the doorframe. He wanted that desperately, the comfort he felt in this house this morning. “I – I think you’re right,” he said softly, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. 

_Let’s ship the box out and forget this ever happened._

“I meant to bring a change of clothes,” he said, remembering the conversation hours ago. “A robe, at least. I suppose I’ll have to borrow yours again.”

“If you must.” Arthur’s tone was softer, fonder now, a relinquishing of his hostility. 

Ozpin braced himself back up, hesitating before he turned toward the bedroom. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For letting him in. For…all of it.”

“These things happen. What is important is that they do not happen again.”

Sympathetic or not, Qrow Branwen had what he wanted, and Ozpin owed Arthur some benefit of doubt. After all, he was dating Arthur, not Qrow, no matter how many times Qrow had tempted him.

 _Asked_ him. Not that Ozpin had been tempted by Qrow at all.

*

Ozpin inhaled the rich scent of Arthur’s expensive cologne, tying his robe closed. A hot shower had eased the tension from sore muscles, from an overwrought mind that still nagged that staying here was the wrong decision.

But he took relief in knowing that perhaps there was no correct answer, and that this might afford some comfort. He wiped the condensation from the mirror, tucking wet hair from his eyes, groping for his glasses. 

His first fight with a significant other. Unpleasant, but inevitable, but they had made their way through it. 

_I should be happier._

But perhaps happiness wasn’t so easily obtained after heavy emotion. And so he was content to be content for now, and wake in the morning, rested and more inclined toward lighter feelings.

Arthur had migrated from the kitchen to the bedroom, sitting in his reading armchair, two teacups on the side table.

“For me?” Ozpin asked, a flutter of warmth in his stomach at the gesture of peace. “Thank you. I need it after today.”

Arthur didn’t reply to the comment directly, motioning to Ozpin’s cell phone, placed neatly on his side of the bed.

“You have a message.”

Ozpin toweled off his hair, hanging the towel up on the hook by the shower. “It’s probably just a work email,” he said.

“I don’t believe so.”

Ozpin sat on the side of the bed, unlocking the phone with a thumb. “I’m sure it’s – ” 

_Qrow Branwen._

Ozpin cleared his throat, hazarding a quick glance toward Arthur. “I’m sure it’s nothing important,” he finished.

_Just checkin’ in. You okay? Wanna ditch the jerk and come to the club instead?_

Ozpin hesitated. He _should_ let it go unanswered, let Qrow slip quietly from his life. But it was rude to leave it, wasn’t it? Would Qrow worry about him?

He _had_ promised to visit Qrow’s club, but how much would having Qrow as a friend damage his relationship with Arthur? 

_Thank you for checking in, but I’ll be fine._

Sent. Ozpin returned the phone to the bedside, offering Arthur a smile. “Nothing important,” he said again.

“Nothing important at this hour? It does make one curious who has the audacity.”

Ozpin’s smile faltered. “I…” He glanced at the phone again, clasping his hands in his lap. “I don’t want to lie to you, Arthur. It was Qrow, checking in to see how I was. I told him I was fine. That will be the end of the conversation.”

The electronic _ping_ of Ozpin’s text alert broke the silence.

“Evidently not,” Arthur’s gaze leveled on Ozpin, waiting – daring him to check the notification.

Ozpin chewed on his lip. “I…this is what he does, isn’t it?” he said, with a nervous laugh. “He was just checking to make sure I was safe, Arthur. You can read the texts yourself if you would like.”

“I am not a slave owner, Ozpin. You may speak to whom you wish.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Ozpin said, flinching when the phone trilled a third time.

“Then block his number as you had me do.”

Ozpin met his even gaze before dropping back to where the phone screen went black again. “I…suppose I could do that,” he said slowly.

“But _will_ you seems to be another concern.” Arthur turned critical eyes on him. “Or will you take up his offer and join him at that seedy rat’s nest of a club?”

Ozpin’s lips parted. “You…read my messages?”

“I’m _trying_ to look after you.” He gave a dramatic sigh, standing, shaking his head. “My dear pet, you have fallen victim of the degenerate’s charm.”

Ozpin felt the too-familiar blush threaten again. “I haven’t,” he protested. “He offered advice, and I meant to take him up on it. Of course, I didn’t know who he was at the time. He seemed helpful, and I…” 

_I’m making a mess of all of this._

“He seemed helpful, he seemed enticing, stirring intrigue beyond control…it is a familiar tale,” Arthur clapped his hand on Ozpin’s shoulder, “but one of tragedy. Do us both a favor – block the creature. Cut him from your memory. We will be all the happier for it.”

“I’m not _intrigued,”_ Ozpin objected. “He may not be the sort of person you enjoy, but that doesn’t mean he’s beneath you, Arthur.”

Arthur scoffed. “You do not actually _believe_ that, do you?”

“You do?” Ozpin countered. “He may not have a doctorate, but he’s still human!”

He didn’t even know _why_ he was defending Qrow – the man who pushed past Ozpin into a house that didn’t belong to him in any manner, to yell at Arthur, to punch a hole in a wall already damaged by his fists –

But there was the long talk on the beach, the kindness Qrow showed Ozpin despite who he was seeing, the easy warmth, the need to hold onto a toy with sentimental value, the generosity to the panhandler –

The humanity that Arthur now seemed to lack entirely.

“He’s a diseased miscreant,” Arthur said, as though to cement the realization.

“You’re pretentious!” Ozpin said, meeting Arthur’s raised voice. 

“And you, my dear, are a hypocrite if you believe yourself any different. You don’t understand of his nature, and yet you’re preaching to me about him. Don’t make me laugh. You spend your life, dedicated to precious research, which ultimately removes you from the very masses you seek to educate. You are a social recluse to a painful degree and know nothing of the daily life of lower classes, nor should you – as I have said before, you have standards, built up from a life of isolation. A perfect pearl untarnished by the grit stirring beneath your shell; and should the occasion arise, you break free from your carapace only long enough to fraternize with society’s best if only to advance your career.” A dramatic pause, a smirk, as Arthur brought his mug to his lips. “I should know – that is how we met.”

Ozpin clenched his hands into fists during this speech, frustration building to something beyond mere annoyance.

He was _seething._

“I’m not a child, Arthur,” he said quietly, to keep his voice from shaking. “We don’t live in a Victor Hugo novel. My having my compassion for someone so _below_ us is neither naïve nor ignorant. You’ve turned this bitterness between you two into some manner of competition for me when I never sought to compare you!” Ozpin ran a hand through damp hair, resisting the urge to pull it out. He let it go, turning his hands upward, a signal of defeat. “If I didn’t have a Ph.D, I suppose you wouldn’t have had serious interest in me either.”

“What a silly question. Of course I wouldn’t have.”

A slap in the face, one that stunned Ozpin into silence.

_I see. I see._

“You’re right,” Ozpin said at length. “You’re right. I _don’t_ know Qrow Branwen at all. But I’m getting to know you very well, and I can’t say I like the revelations.” He seized his sandy clothes from the floor and haphazardly dressed, neglecting to tuck his in shirt or even fully button it, roping the loose tie around his shoulders.

“They say truth is in the eye of the beholder,” Arthur drawled, watching Ozpin as though unsurprised. “It’s a shame you’ve been blinded.”

But that wasn’t true at all, Ozpin mused, grabbing the box of Qrow’s belongings from the corner and clumsily storming out of the bedroom.

_I’m just not seeing things through your lens anymore, Arthur._

He made it to the entryway, knuckles bruised from maneuvering the box down the narrow staircase. The door swung open violently when he shoved his body against it, the cold breeze hitting his face.

Walking home alone in the dark. That’s how it ended.

Ozpin grit his teeth as he adjusted his grip on the box of Qrow’s belongings.

_Well. The night isn’t over yet._

*

Qrow jogged up the dim alley steps behind The Flaming Cock, giving himself a once over at the metal door, knocking the remaining clumps of sand free from his jeans, and frowning at the stubborn grains embedded in his worn seams.

_Eh. They’ve seen me walk in from worse._

The heavy beat of a techno base shook the door frame, Qrow tapping his toe on the floor in time with it, waiting for the too long pause between songs - _amateur_ \- to knock loudly on the door, the unusual pattern coming to him at random.

“Branwen, I told you, pick a secret knock and stick with it, or don’t bother!” he heard from the other side of the door. 

“If I did that, how would you know it was me?” Qrow grinned.

The music returned, drowning out the shuffling grunts of the bouncer unlatching the various bolts and bars securing the door. 

_“’Hazel, dirty-blonde hair, I wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with you anywhere,’”_ Qrow serenaded the brute large enough to fill the frame.

“That’s an unrequited sentiment,” Hazel replied, stone faced.

“’Unrequited sentiment,’ huh? You been readin’ the big boy books?” 

“Ones without pictures.”

“Those exist?” 

The awkward silence stretched, each man staring at the other, intent not to break first – until the corner of Hazel’s mouth twitched, settling upturned. 

“God damn it, Branwen, get in here,” he grinned at last, clapping a hand on Qrow’s shoulder and dragging the man inside. “How ya been? Jesus, you smell like an Irish – wait.” He leaned closer for a proper sniff, “Buena Vista. You bitch. You didn’t bring me any.”

“Yeah, sorry, Hazel. Had a hot date with my ex’s boyfriend.”

“Which one?”

“Would you remember any of their names?”

“Fair point. So you have a place lined up tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Then looks like you just won the lottery.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot? It’s singles’ night.”

Qrow nodded understanding the implications: tonight would be Russian roulette – half the crowd recently liberated from a crazy ex, the other half – well – the crazy ex.

Qrow appreciated these nights; not only did they present new networking opportunities for future friendly couches, or loving beds, but it kept him on his toes. 

_An interesting lifestyle,_ was the polite term friends had settled on to describe Qrow’s choices in life. _Beats the hell outta going into debt just trying to pay rent._

“And now for a retro classic!” the DJ’s voice boomed through the speakers. The music shifted once again to an upbeat tempo, Qrow already rolling his eyes and groaning as Beyoncé sang “Cause if you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it.”

Qrow’s nose bunched in disapproval. “Can they stop putting on kids that think is hipster retro? What is he, fifteen?”

“Eighteen, actually,” Hazel replied. “Junior scouted him last week.”

“Yeah, well, Junior’s taste is goin’ bad.”

“He wants to stay in with the younger audience.”

“Then fuckin’ schedule them on teenie bopper night, huh? Singles’ night is an open bar. Junior’s lost his damn mind if he doesn’t think that will get him into some serious shit if someone finds out.”

“He lied on his resume and gave a decent fake ID.”

“…smart kid. Still needs to be scheduled a different fucking night,” Qrow grumbled to himself.

Qrow made his way to the employee lockers, stripping his sweatshirt off and tossing it in his locker, taking a moment to arrange his hair. He arrived behind the DJ booth just as the song ended, motioning for the kid to get out of the way.

_Time for the adults to handle things, kid._

“Qrow!” the kid said, over the pulse of the bass. “I’m a big fan!”

“Yeah, thanks,” Qrow said, fingers already at work, ignoring the too-large eyes on him. “Talk to me when you hit puberty.”

The bass continued, the song mixing in fluidly, Hugo’s voice cutting through the beat:

_“If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you son, I got ninety-nine problems and a bitch ain't one.”_

A cheer rose up from the floor, an indistinguishable mass of bodies bouncing in time to the beat.

“Good evening, cocksuckers!” Qrow said into the mic. “Your prince has arrived – get on the floor and show me how much you appreciate me!”

Another cheer, seats at the bar emptying as people pushed toward the dance floor, the song’s message a deliberate reminder to himself, after a shit day and worse night.

_”Ninety-niiiiine problems…but a bitch ain't one.”_

Still, Ozpin – the naïve, barely-out-of-the-closet, pretty professor, Ph.Ds and starched collars, smart and stupid at the same time – 

\- Qrow wouldn’t mind showing him the true joy of being out and open.

Ozpin was harder to push from Qrow’s mind than Arthur’s usual fuckery. A guy like that didn’t deserve Arthur, and vice versa. He shot off a text in the booth, as promised, hoping to hear that Ozpin had seen the light and dumped Arthur already. But the reply was brief, distant, and Qrow sighed.

Maybe one day he’d break free. Until then, Qrow had a job to do and a crowd to pump up.

His playlist was legendary that night – singles empowerment and a whole lotta songs to say _fuck you_ to shitty exes. He danced to it himself until he got the warning sign that his shift was nearly up; his replacement came in a few minutes early to get organized and Qrow let him, backing off the stage without his usual goodnight fanfare, not feeling up to the attention.

“You’ve got a message from Roman,” the other DJ told him. “Someone waiting for you at the bar.”

“Thanks,” Qrow said. He made it back into the locker room and paused, giving his ears a break from the assault of the bass. 

_Someone waiting_ could be anyone – an old friend, an old flame. As long as it wasn’t a bitter ex, Qrow figured it was a chance at a place to stay for the night, and so he chugged a bottle of water and made his way into the club proper, pushing through the crowds until he reached the bar.

“Hello, honey, I’m home,” he drawled, as Roman’s flaming orange hair came into view.

“Ah, just in time,” Roman said. “The queen of the hour. Qrow, I believe this is a friend of yours. Well – you share an ex, and if that doesn’t make you friends, then – ” He shrugged, scooping up a tip left for him.

Qrow glanced at the man in the corner, sitting as though trying to hide from everyone in the club – silver hair, expensive clothes, woefully out of place.

Ozpin.

Qrow shook his head, smiling.

_Maybe he’s smarter than he seems._

In any case, Qrow felt his luck that night shift.

“Hey, Oz.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Ozpin's breakup with Arthur official, he goes to the only place he can think of: Qrow's gay club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never! Making up our lateness with a long chapter.
> 
> We're hoping to have the last chapter on time, barring life getting in the way again. Thanks for your patience! 💚

For the better part of an hour, Ozpin wandered. He had walked home – automatic, a lack of anywhere else to go, Qrow’s belongings in the box growing too heavy to end up anywhere else. But his home was dark, and quiet, and he was _supposed_ to have been full of cake and champagne at this point, half-asleep in Arthur’s arms. Warm and safe.

He had neither warmth nor safety tonight.

Somehow, that didn’t scare him as much as he thought it should. He dropped the box of Qrow’s things off and immediately turned back to the door. 

_What did people do when they broke up with someone?_

The obvious answer was alcohol and sympathetic company.

He eliminated Glynda immediately; he didn’t want that manner of sympathy, soft feminine reassurances. He wanted someone who knew exactly what Arthur was, someone to offer _fuck ‘em_ choruses and preferably with a well-stocked bar.

His feet moved down the street without direction, pulling the phone from his pocket. He wasn’t terribly far from the Castro district, but he had no idea where the Flaming Cock was.

He typed the bar name into the search bar before hesitating at the name itself.

But his blood was too alight with anger and insult to mind what his searches looked like; he found the address and began in the right direction. Maybe Arthur was right and Qrow Branwen was wild, unstable, irresponsible – the difference between night and day.

Tonight, that was _exactly_ what Ozpin needed.

At least Qrow would understand precisely what Ozpin had gone through.

The club was busy; he pushed through the crowds of young men, realizing too late that he was severely overdressed in his collared shirt and jacket. Even with his tie loose around his shoulders, he looked too much like an academic, too old to be here. And yet when he reached the front of the line, the bouncer paused, holding up a hand to keep a thin young man in a mesh shirt from entering.

“What’s your story?” he asked Ozpin. 

“I don’t mean to cut,” Ozpin said, already beginning to regret this decision. “I’m a friend of Qrow Branwen, and I – ”

“Qrow?” the bouncer said, eyebrows lifting. “Aren’t we all. Are you on the list?”

“Not exactly,” Ozpin said, fidgeting under the stares of the men in the line. “We spoke earlier this evening and he invited me, and then I broke up with my boyfriend – oh.”

The magic word – or some combination of them. The bouncer waved him in, unlatching the velvet rope. “You’re in,” he said. “No charge for Qrow’s friends, or guys fresh off a breakup. Not on single’s night.”

“Single’s night,” Ozpin repeated, resigned.

_Of course it is._

The bouncer offered the faintest hint of a smile. “Good to have you. Too many twinks tonight.”

Ozpin nodded, absolutely no idea what that meant but happy on some level to help. 

“Qrow’s off in an hour or so,” the bouncer continued. “Talk to the bartender and he’ll flag Qrow for you when he finishes his set. Until then…” He clapped a large hand on Ozpin’s shoulder. “Have a drink. Forget the ex.”

_Ex._

_Everyone has exes._

“Thank you,” Ozpin said, almost yelling over the music that poured out when the bouncer opened the doors. He slipped in, immediately surrounded by bodies in motion, the music pounding in his ears.

It was like nothing he had seen before, young men of varying degrees of undress, all jumping and twisting together to the beat that vibrated through Ozpin’s ears and into his core, his limbs, shaking the glasses from his nose. 

The music, the sight of too many bodies pressed together – there was no room for anything else, and slowly, the argument with Arthur, the dark house at home, began to fade.

He pushed his way carefully through the crowd until he found the bar, retreating into the furthest corner to watch the energetic crowd, feeling safer with his back against a wall. The bartender, a slim man with vivid orange hair brushed over one eye, the other stark with heavy eyeliner, leaned over the counter as Ozpin settled in.

“You’re new,” he said, a statement rather than a question. “And _my god_ do you look like you need a drink.”

“I do,” Ozpin said, running a hand through his hair. “Please.”

“What’s your poison?” the man asked, offering a wink – at least, Ozpin was fairly certain it was meant to be a wink, but impossible to know with his other eye hidden.

“I – I don’t know,” Ozpin said. “Something strong.”

“Bad night?”

Ozpin sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh, it is,” the bartender purred. “I just need know how big to make your drink.”

“Big,” Ozpin said.

The bartender gave a knowing nod, deft hands moving to grab a shaker and several bottles moving too fast for Ozpin to read the labels. After a moment he gave up on trying to determine the drink and too desperately in need of it to care.

“I have a favor to ask,” Ozpin said, watching the flip of the shaker in the air. “I’m a friend of Qrow’s. The bouncer said to talk to you about seeing him.”

“Oh?” the bartender said, turning a martini glass right side up on the bar, a bright red drink trickling from the shaker.

“I have his number, of course, but he won’t hear it in this noise – ”

“Not a problem,” the man said. “You’ve got an hour to kill, but I’ll let him know.”

“Thank you.” Ozpin dug in his pocket for his wallet, but the bartended waved him off. 

“Qrow’s friends get one on the house,” he said. “The rest – well. The regulars smell new blood. I’ll let them buy you a few. Just don’t let them get too fresh.”

Ozpin stared, his hand halfway around his glass. 

_What does that even mean?_

“Thank you,” he said instead, and focused on letting the music and the cocktail drown his thoughts.

He watched the people in the crowd as he sipped his drink (something fruity, deceptively easy to drink but no doubt quite strong, given the bartender’s smirks). The energy was unlike anything else, alive and animated, men openly showing their interest in one another. Foreign, like something Ozpin had only _imagined_ in too many years spent grappling with his identity. Ozpin’s eyes roamed over the dancers to the stage in the front of the club, flanked by great black speakers, neon lights blinking and roving over the crowd. Behind it all –

_Qrow._

Ozpin stared, drink in hand, as Qrow manipulated the music, hands moving adroitly over buttons and nobs, headphones over only one ear, head bobbing to the beat even as he worked. His tattoos were on full display now, if Ozpin could get close enough, chest bare, pants belted haphazardly at the dip of his pelvis. Ozpin wondered about the tenuous way that belt cinched around his hips, if his persistent movement would loosen – 

“First time seeing him at work?” the bartender said.

Ozpin started, his drink sloshing dangerously close to the brim of the glass.

“Ah – yes. I – I’m not in the habit of frequenting these kinds of clubs.”

“Couldn’t tell,” the redhead said, all sarcasm. “What’s your name?”

“Ozpin.”

“Ozpin. Roman, the most fabulous bartender you’ll ever meet,” he accentuated with a flick of his wrist toward the ceiling, like a flamenco dancer. “Step one to getting out of whatever shithole you’re in – what’s his name?”

“I – wh – whose name, may I ask?”

“The ex! A pretty thing like you wouldn’t trudge all the way to Castro – I can tell it’s your first time, honey,” he added catching Ozpin’s surprised look, “ – and saunter into one of the busiest nightclubs _on single’s night_ without a reason.”

Ozpin closed his eyes and gave a resigned sigh. He knew this would not be easy, but –

 _Am I really that much of an open book?_

He glared into his cocktail. 

_I am not a hermit,_ he thought aggressively, drinking too much too quickly.

“Arthur,” Ozpin declared at last. “His name is Arthur.”

“’Arthur,’” Roman mulled the name around as he effortlessly washed and dried a glass, overpolishing the rim as he thought. “Sounds anal retentive,” he concluded.

“Well,” Ozpin mused, feeling the flutter of alcohol in his stomach. “He _is_ an asshole.”

“Take pride he won’t be getting yours anymore.”

Ozpin coughed, spraying red droplets onto his arm, feeling the severe heat bloom on his face. “I – ”

_What do you even say to something like that?_

Instead, Ozpin drained his cocktail.

_Drink until it’s less embarrassing._

Not the healthiest coping mechanism, but –

“I suppose,” Ozpin muttered, placing the empty glass on the bar. 

“So what happened?” Roman asked, swiping the glass away, already beginning to mix another.

“Qrow. Branwen.” Ozpin said the name like an unholy curse, eyes drifting back up to the DJ stage.

“Oooo. Palpable sexual tension. I like it. Makes for hot hate sex. So are you here to rip him a new one, or let him rip into you?”

“I – ” Ozpin spluttered, wishing Roman would finish his second drink sooner so that he had something to drown in. “I – I don’t _hate_ him. But things were a lot simpler before I met him.” He chanced another glance as Qrow began a new song, rotating his hips aggressively. “He’s my ex’s ex.”

“Oh, you’re talking about Arthur _Watts?!_ Honey. You dodged a motherfucking bullet. The only people that narcissist acknowledges are the ones he’s taking advantage of.”

Ozpin looked at Roman helplessly. “…why is it that today, all of a sudden, everyone has decided to tell me I’m dating some manner of sociopath?”

He miserably regarded the cocktail Roman slid in front of him.

“Are they wrong?” he asked.

Ozpin glared – a fruitless action, given Roman’s cocky raised eyebrow.

“It would appear not,” he grumbled.

“I’ve heard the stories,” Roman said. “But lucky for you, only Qrow has had the displeasure. He doesn’t usually talk about his sexcapades, but as his best Judy I was lucky enough to get the tea. Don’t worry honey, your faux pax is safe with me,” he added, patting Ozpin’s hand reassuringly. “We’ll all have a good kiki so you can lay into Qrow, then let him lay into you.” He offered another half wink as he began another order.

Ozpin’s eyes followed Roman as he moved, bottles flying seamlessly from one hand to the next, utterly uncertain as to what had just been said, only that Ozpin was _quite_ sure there had been some manner of improper implication.

“I – ”

“So what drew you to him?” Roman asked.

“Arthur or Qrow?” Ozpin asked, struggling to keep up with the conversation.

“Arthur, honey. We all know Qrow is attractive,” Roman said, with a meaningful smirk.

Ozpin slouched in his chair, dropping his eyes from the bartender’s smug expression. “Oh, well…we met at a work conference. He was…charming, polite, confident.” He took a long sip of the mystery cocktail. “…aggressive.”

Roman laughed. “Saving the best for last, hmm? Well, as long as you aren’t too attached to polite, you’ll do just fine here.” Roman flipped a rag over his shoulder, bracing his hands on the bar as he sized Ozpin up. “You like to work a lot and don’t get out much, am I right?”

“…perhaps, yes.”

“Bet you have your _whole_ life mapped out, don’t you?” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “Word of advice – burn the map. It won’t lead you to happiness.”

Ozpin listened despondently, moving only to sip his drink.

“Be a little spontaneous. Drink all the cocktails. Life is too short, and before you know it, you’ll be out of time to enjoy it.”

Ozpin nodded meekly. 

“And appreciate the small things,” Roman concluded. “And the cheap ones, if you’re going to date Qrow Branwen.”

Ozpin swallowed too fast, choking as the sting of alcohol at the back of his throat brought tears to his eyes. 

“I – I’m not – ” Ozpin stuttered, yet another glance at Qrow on stage (his pants had slipped just below the line of where Ozpin expected his boxers to be – suspiciously and meaningfully absent – the lights casting shadows on the dip of his pelvis). “I never said that I would – that _we_ would…”

“Right, right. You were angry with him, weren’t you. I’d forgotten with how much you’ve been thirsting for his pants to drop more. You won’t find them, by the way.”

“I wasn’t – ” Ozpin blush was too much to bear now, clenching his eyes closed to prevent sneaking another upward glance. “Find _what?”_

“Boxers. He’s _au natural._ Too warm, he claims.” Roman waved his hand at the feeble excuse. “He gets better tips showing he’s well-trimmed.”

“…oh.” Ozpin sank further down into his seat, finally allowing that tempting look up at the stage. Qrow’s pants hugged his hips dangerously low, shifting as he moved to the music.

_Oh, good lord, I can’t sit here and watch this –_

“When is he off again?” Ozpin said, his voice desperate. 

“Forty-five,” Roman said, with a wolfish grin.

 _I’m not going to survive this._ He watched Roman saunter off to help a man at the other side of the bar, reaching for his drink again. At least with Roman’s distance, Ozpin was alone once more, free to ease his blush down and shoot his cocktail irresponsibly fast.

He let out a long breath, dropping against the bar, happy to be free of a conversation he barely understood – and avoiding what he very much did. He raised his glass again, eyes shooting up at the weight of a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s a sexy silver fox like you doing in a place like this alone?”

Ozpin turned in his seat to face a young man with bright red hair and too much eyeliner.

A young man who looked extremely familiar.

“Oh my god, _PROFESSOR?!”_

_Oh no._

This wasn’t happening.

Not tonight.

Ozpin grasped for a name, staring blankly at the very, _very_ familiar face.

“…Mr. David?” he murmured at length. That was all he could think of to say, a horrifying acknowledgment of one another at the last place either wished to be recognized.

“W-who?! N-no! I’m sorry. I must have confused you for someone else. Good bye!” The young man began a hasty retreat.

“Scarlet! Where are you going? Get his number!” his friend yelled amongst the crowd, freezing Scarlet David in place. 

Ozpin read the curse on Scarlet’s lips, an embarrassed smile replacing the foul words. “Bye, professor!” he said, too loudly for Ozpin’s comfort before finally disappearing into the crowd.

Ozpin let his forehead hit the bar, wishing to disappear beneath it.

_How am I ever going to get used to this?_

He straightened, lifting the drink and taking it like a shot.

Brass horns cut through the club noise, the bass dropping off abruptly. Someone screamed and Ozpin nearly dropped his glass.

 _“Demi, come through!”_ the voice shrieked, as a woman’s voice began with the bass.

“So you say I'm complicaaaated,” she sang amongst the cheering, “that I must be outta my mind. But you had me underraaaaated!”

The crowd sang the chorus as one.

_“What's wrong with being, what's wrong with being, what's wrong with being confident?”_

Ozpin watched, wholly removed from whatever culture this was, despite Roman the bartender insisting he belonged in a place like this.

Ozpin looked up at a third red mystery drink in front of him and a glass of water, Roman giving him that telling look. Automatically, Ozpin reached for his wallet, and yet again, the bartender waved him off, pointing down the bar at a gentleman in a neon mesh shirt, who waved at Ozpin enthusiastically.

“Oh lord,” Ozpin murmured, flushing. “I see. But the second one – ”

Roman pointed at the corner of the bar, where Ozpin received a wave from another gentleman, this one in a blue crop top, very defined abs on display.

“You’re popular,” Roman said. “Told you they can smell fresh meat.”

Ozpin shrank, withdrawing with his drink.

_This is too much to bear._

“Tell them thank you,” he said, “but that I’m here with someone.”

“Can do, boss.”

“It’s time for a dedication,” Qrow’s voice echoed above, and the crowd cheered over the bass. “This one’s for my ex!”

“Which one?” came the chorus, apparently accustomed to this routine.

“This...” Qrow let his voice trail as the bass continued to pump in smooth remix, “is for Art.”

Ozpin felt the blood drain from his face at the name, reaching for his drink mechanically as a man’s voice crooned rude lyrics.

All these accusations, all these allegations  
Do you wanna know what I really think about them?  
All these situations, riding on my patience  
Do you wanna know what I really think about you, baby?  
Go fuck yourself  
Bitch, I gotta say that  
Bitch, I gotta say that  
Go fuck yourself - 

“Charming,” Ozpin muttered, but he couldn’t help but think that Arthur had brought such a dedication onto himself.

And the chorus _was_ rather catchy.

“So.” Roman had returned, leaning on an elbow over the bar, studying Ozpin’s face. “What are you interested in besides Qrow?”

“I…I’m not…” The protests were much harder after however much he had had to drink, and so Ozpin merely sighed, deflating in his chair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Well, what’s your type? I can send a few over. Bear? Otter? Twunk, fox, wolf?”

Ozpin stared. “Are you finding them in some manner of zoo?”

“What do you think you’re in?” Roman replied, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’ve got a lot to learn. Let me put it in straight terms. Think of it like Goldilocks, but with muscle and body hair. Bear is papa bear – big n’ hairy all over, twinks are like baby bear – young, cute, and thin, and otters are in between. Twunks are a twink with more muscle. And Qrow’s a wolf.”

“What does that mean?” Ozpin asked, certain he wouldn’t remember a word of this once Roman paused for breath.

“Lean muscle, facial hair…” Roman said, letting his voice trail. “…sexually aggressive.”

Ozpin stared. “You’re making this up.”

“Really not. You can Google it if you think I’m pulling your leg.”

Ozpin listened incredulously, certain that this explanation was a prank, or a long joke. But the punchline never came, and so he sat, that increasingly familiar sense of helpless confusion creeping in.

“I…” Another drink to give him time to think, which didn’t help beyond delaying the inevitable. “I don’t know,” Ozpin confessed. “I haven’t been…out long, and I’ve only really been interested in Arthur and Qrow.”

_Oh no._

The truth stumbled out too easily and Ozpin felt the flare of heat on his face, Roman watching him with an amused expression.

“I mean, I – ” His head swam in the music and the alcohol, Qrow still dancing in the corner of his eye, and he let out a frustrated noise. “Fine,” he said, with every bit of feigned confidence he could muster. “I’m interested in Qrow.”

His stomach flipped at this declaration, but it settled, leaving him vaguely pleased that he had found even an ounce of courage, even if from too many red mystery drinks.

“Atta boy. Now if you can get over the fact that he equates commitment to the plague, he’ll be the most honest and transparent partner you’ll ever have.” Roman waved at a man trying to get this attention, leaving Ozpin to consider his words.

Ozpin’s eyes followed the bartender, regarding his drink dully.

_Equates commitment to the plague._

Ozpin hadn’t considered a casual relationship. In fact, the thought of _friends with benefits_ made his stomach twist around the drinks he had swallowed.

_I’m too old for that sort of arrangement._

Friends though – just friends. Ozpin needed friends who understood the parts of him that his straight friends wouldn’t, and Qrow had already taken so much time to help Ozpin work through things. 

Ozpin watched Qrow bounce on stage, riling up the crowd, hands moving over the controls, hips dipping with each beat, entirely too easy to imagine said hips moving as he –

Ozpin shot the rest of his drink.

_I don’t think I can be just friends._

But would Qrow want to waste his time with an older, repressed man barely out of the closet? Qrow was rough around the edges, yes, but he had also shown himself to be emotionally connected to friends and family, kind to strangers, quick to draw laughter from those around him. He was popular, sweet, beautiful – 

“How are we doin’?” Qrow yelled from the microphone. “Feeling some more spite? Yeah, me too.” 

A new song began, an accented voice warbling, _“Fuck you, I'm a mess – ”_

_And immature._

Ozpin considered banging his head against the bar in time to the tempo, listening to the lyrics and wondering miserably if Qrow ever dedicated songs to people for happy reasons.

_“ – but I'd never feel ashamed. You got a fucking problem? Baby, this is who I am, I know that I'm the only one that you can ever blame, but I just won't take it on me.”_

Perhaps not on Singles’ Night.

“Is that varnish on your pants?”

Ozpin looked up; a tall thin man was smiling down at him. His stalky form and brown tousled hair reminded him of Arthur, or perhaps it was the recollection of varnish on his renovations, Ozpin couldn’t be certain. But varnish on –

“I – I beg your pardon?”

“I asked if you had varnish on your pants.”

Ozpin blinked, glancing down at his slacks, rather worse for the wear after a day teaching, then up and down too many blocks, grains of sand stuck in the cuffs and seams, desperately in need of dry-cleaning –

“Because I can totally see myself in them.”

Ozpin stared for another few seconds, and then his face grew hot, every word he ever knew flying from his brain. 

_He’s – he’s interested? In me?_

“Oh, I – thank you,” Ozpin stammered. “But I – I’m waiting for someone…”

_Someone who, for all I know, doesn’t share the same interest in me._

“He can join too,” the man insisted.

“Oh,” Ozpin said, the syllable escaping him, faint and high-pitched. “Oh, good lord. No, thank you, but I – I don’t think – ”

Roman reappeared, Ozpin thinking – in this moment – that he was a godsend, shooing away Ozpin’s persistent suitor with a few casually barked commands.

“Still considering taking Qrow home, I hear. Some advice for tonight – stay a little sober. He’s a full P90X in the sheets,” he remarked refilling Ozpin’s water cup, accompanied by another mysterious wink, leaving Ozpin staring in disbelief.

_I’m going to die here. They’re all so forward, so overt, and my heart can’t take it._

Ozpin put his head down, cupping his palm over his glasses, his blush hot. 

“I’m just trying to do him a favor,” he said, the words muffed from this position. “I have some of his things he left at Arthur’s, and I thought – if he didn’t have anywhere to stay tonight…”

“That’s very generous of you.”

It was very _nearly_ a compliment, if Roman didn’t follow it up with a smug smirk, implying all manner of things Ozpin didn’t mean to say.

Not aloud, anyway.

“I owe him,” Ozpin said, letting the alcohol in his system push him to defend his honor. “He helped me when he didn’t know who I was, and only more so when he found out I was with Arthur. He could have left me to the unknown, but…”

He thought about how kind Qrow had been on the beach as they shared coffee and cake, how much time he spent with a stranger, making him laugh, encouraging him not to settle for less than what he deserved.

If he hadn’t been with Arthur, would Qrow have kissed him?

Ozpin sighed heavily, slumping against the bar.

“Uh oh. A sigh of unrequited affection – the mantra of our people,” Roman announced, with a lofty hand wave. “Every good gay has to have at least one. Admittedly, it’s usually your first straight crush, but don’t worry, hon. Kids these days are getting crazier and crazier with these lists of demands for dating they get from social media, but Qrow isn’t as quick to judge. He’s more old fashioned. He’ll be interested, give you a chance. You just have to be willing to do the same.”

“Thank you for that. And – thank you for…watching over me tonight. And the advice. And the – all the drinks.” Ozpin shook his head, freeing the melancholy from his brain. “Everyone here is…so nice.”

“Us gays are given shit wherever we go, it’d be ludicrous if we did the same to each other. Instead, we congregate and become a family. So welcome, hon. Just don’t go callin’ me daddy. I’m not old enough for that one, and I’ll slap you if you try. You just keep that to the bedroom, if you please.”

Almost a touching speech, if the tail end of it hadn’t caused Ozpin to splutter a protest. “I – I didn’t mean – ”

“We don’t judge here. As long as you’re a good tipper,” Roman added, with a grin.

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course – ” Ozpin finally withdrew his wallet successfully, digging for bills.

“Hello, honey, I’m home.”

“Ah, just in time,” Roman said, as Ozpin tried tipsily to count. “The queen of the hour. Qrow, I believe this is a friend of yours. Well – you share an ex, and if that doesn’t make you friends, then – ” He shrugged, taking the generous tip Ozpin had left and sauntering off to the other side of the bar.

“Hey, Oz,” Qrow drawled with a grin. “I didn’t expect to see you here, but impressed you came so soon. Couldn’t get enough of me earlier?”

Ozpin turned as quickly as his balance would allow; he had almost forgotten he was here to meet Qrow at all, and now he was here, still deliciously shirtless, tattoos and muscles glistening with the sweat from his energetic set. He strutted up to the bar, leaning in with one arm resting on the back of Ozpin’s chair.

“No, I – ” Ozpin’s words vanished as quickly as he had begun to speak, stolen by the nearness of Qrow’s sagging pants in close quarters. He blushed without hearing what Qrow had said, Ozpin’s composure broken after one too many cocktails. “I – I…just wanted…”

_You._

“I have some of your things,” Ozpin said, shaking some sense into himself, trying very hard not to think about the mere inches between his shoulder and Qrow’s arm – and failing just as hard. “I took them from Arthur’s after we…we, ah…”

“They broke up,” Roman offered, as though recognizing Ozpin’s helpless crush.

“Hallelujah!” Qrow said, clapping Ozpin on the shoulder. “If you wanna celebrate, I can show you a good time,” Qrow offered, sizing Ozpin up. 

_Oh. Oh dear._

“Unless you need time – “

“He doesn’t,” Roman happily reassured, cutting Qrow off.

“Oh, well – are you supposed to celebrate a breakup?” Ozpin fretted, wondering what exactly Qrow would suggest as a _good time._ “I thought I was still supposed to be in the ‘drink and vent’ stage.”

“Alright, alright. Gettin’ ahead of myself. Just excited to have a new cuddle buddy sympathetic to my cause. So what do you say, Oz? House a lonely stray on a cold night?”

“Yes!” Ozpin cleared his throat, crushing down his over-eagerness. “I mean – I have your things at my house, so it would make sense, if you didn’t have other arrangements…”

“Free as a bird,” Qrow grinned.

“Good,” Ozpin said. “Ah – good.”

An hour ago, he had a thousand things to say to Qrow. Now, in this place, with too many mystery cocktails in his system and the very intrusive realization that this might be a legitimate crush –

Ozpin fidgeted in his seat. “If you’d like to stay, I can buy you a drink. Otherwise…”

“It’s singles’ night, but that doesn’t mean I wanna be single tonight. Lead the way.”

“Qrow, a word.” Roman waved for the DJ to lean in. Despite the intent to remain secretive, the necessity of volume in the club allowed for Ozpin to overhear. “You owe me, bitch. He was ready to skin you on sight.” Roman kissed Qrow’s cheek, Qrow responding by blowing a kiss. 

“Thank you, love.”

“Mmmmm. He’s a generous tipper, Qrow. Have fun showing him another definition.”

Ozpin stewed in the furious heat of his own blush, wishing Roman had poured him a fourth cocktail despite the irresponsibility of it. He made a show of pretending he couldn’t hear, adjusting his glasses and checking his phone. 

Arthur, of course, had opted not to contact him.

“We can walk from here,” he said, when Qrow redirected his attention. “Or I can arrange for a Lyft, if you prefer.”

“We’ll walk. Don’t wanna get kicked outta the car if I get too frisky,” Qrow growled into Ozpin’s ear.

Ozpin’s stomach twisted, too pleasantly, resisting the urge of the rest of his body to squirm, keeping his face down to hide the color Qrow’s voice elicited. 

_Oh dear oh dear –_

“Very well,” he managed. “I can meet you out front if you want to get your, ah…shirt…” He slipped from his chair, avoiding the touch of Qrow’s arm _(he couldn’t trust what might happen if they touched)_ and brushing past the crowds to the doors.

The night was cold now, Ozpin stumbling away from the dull, muted thumps of the music within, taking great breaths of fresh air. He was past the edge of tipsy, but the chill of the air shook a good deal of fog from his head, like the intoxication of Qrow’s shirtlessness and the too-easily given innuendos.

Ozpin watched more clubgoers filter inside, laughing, holding one another too closely. He tried very hard not to think about Arthur, about how they once walked arm-in-arm out of the theater, or the opera, stopping for a late latte or glass of champagne in half-hidden exclusive bars that only Arthur knew about.

 _He was awful under everything,_ Ozpin mused, _but not every moment was._

He sighed. Too many life lessons learned in too short a time, blurred by the confusion of too many attractive men and too many drinks.

“You look lost.”

Qrow materialized beside him and Ozpin almost jumped, letting out a sharp breath of surprise.

“Ah, I’m sorry – perhaps just a bit…lost in thought,” he said, increasingly distracted by the still-bare skin Qrow displayed now, even as Ozpin’s words became visible, white clouds on his lips. 

“We don’t have to make this a thing. Roman likes to help me out if it means I’m not always crashing on his couch, but that doesn’t mean it has to end in sex. Look, hey – “ Qrow said, grabbing Ozpin’s elbow to keep him from stumbling into a wall, far from whatever emotion this conversation was stirring – relief? Disappointment? 

Entirely too drunk to fathom.

“We can be just friends,” Qrow continued, his tender expression at odds with his still naked torso glistening with sweat under the neon club lights.

“Friends,” Ozpin repeated.

_God knows I need those._

He tore his eyes from Qrow’s tempting skin, from the hands that touched his arm, to the ground that shifted beneath him. 

_Just friends._

“Yes, I…would like that. You’ve been very kind. And your friend, Roman – he was kind too. And the gentlemen who bought me very many drinks…”

Qrow laughed, Ozpin smiling at the sound, at the support that he offered with an arm around Ozpin’s shoulders. “Okay, okay. Glad you had a good night at your first gay bar. Why don’t you point which direction we’re going?”

Ozpin did so, Qrow nudging him until they walked in unison away from the pound of the club music, the bass fading like a strange dream into the cold fog of the evening. For a few minutes they walked in easy silence, Ozpin’s gaze drifting to Qrow’s bare skin, the black marks on his arms.

“What do they mean?” he asked. “Your tattoos. You told me they all had meaning.”

“And they do. Some ranging from a lifelong passion, others to a drunken whim and falling out of a chair before they could finish.” Qrow paused long enough for Ozpin to recall his colorful tale of the famed tramp stamp.

“Right. _Carpe D.”_ Ozpin chuckled softly and Qrow grinned.

“Guess we’ll start with the big one, since it’s dual purpose.” He extended his right arm, his left still securing a stumbling Ozpin against him. By far, the largest tattoo was the music scale scrawling from wrist to back, intricately wrapping around his arm in snake-like patterns, occasional black music notes with hollowed out letters in the center dispersed amongst the lines. At the wrist where the music began, each line was labeled with a small number, one, two, three, four, five, something Ozpin could not remember seeing in sheet music when he had learned the piano as a boy.

“I’ve been obsessed with music my whole life,” Qrow began, “it got me through a lot of shit. Good stuff, bad stuff…it was always there for me. So I started with a scale. It took almost a year just to get the staff outline down ‘cause I insisted each line was exactly one inch from the next. It was a stupid decision on all the swirls, but it comes in handy for measuring – “

Qrow paused, clearing his throat. “Egos.”

Ozpin paused mid-step, craning his neck to examine the music tattoo to determine if Qrow was telling the truth or simply joking, but –

He laughed, too loudly, the sound reverberating in the quiet streets.

“You’re…” he snickered, holding onto Qrow for balance. “You continually surprise me. But you don’t…actually use it on dates, do you?”

“I wouldn’t call them dates exactly…but it gets its fair use.”

“As if I wasn’t already worried about measuring up,” Ozpin murmured.

“Maybe we can test it sometime. As friends,” Qrow grinned, his amusement seeping through his words.

“Yes, right – friends,” Ozpin echoed. He glanced back at the music on Qrow’s arm, too easy to imagine how many times –

“Aren’t you hot?”

_Oh hell –_

“Cold,” Ozpin corrected, graceless and desperate. “I mean. Without a shirt. It’s quite cold tonight.”

“Nah,” Qrow chuckled, undoubtedly following Ozpin’s train of thought, “it gets hot and heavy in the booth with the music and blood pumpin’. The cold air is nice to sober me up so I don’t – ah. Yeah, anyway, next set of tattoos?”

_So you don’t – what?_

Was it possible that Qrow struggled with his attraction as well?

 _Isn’t that a nice dream,_ Ozpin thought. 

“Please,” he said instead, “continue.”

“The next big upgrade was the music notes – one for each person that actually means something to me,” he said, as he pulled his arm into the light displaying the beginning of the numbered scale near his wrist. “This first R is for Raven, my twin sister, who is dating the T – Taiyang – who is married to S, Summer…then I’ve got my nieces: Yang, Raven’s kid, and Ruby, Summer’s kid,” Qrow rotated his arm to flex his triceps into the light as they followed the last two notes. “Then Z for Zwei, the best damn dog in the world.”

“Your…dog,” Ozpin said, feeling as though this should surprise him, but not finding it within him. “And – I’m sorry, you said your sister is dating someone married?”

“Yeah. It’s not as complicated as it sounds,” Qrow said. “Tai and Raven have been dating for years, but she’s not the marryin’ type. And we’re known Summer forever, and they just clicked, you know?”

“That sounds complicated. Do they not get jealous of each other? Raven and Summer?”

“Nah. They’re all dating. All three of ‘em.”

“Oh.” Ozpin had never heard of such a situation, and so he fell silent, considering this.

“A lot of people don’t get it,” Qrow said. “Poly relationships.”

“It sounds nice,” Ozpin said quietly. “I imagine there is a great deal of love in that house.”

Qrow smiled, the emotion behind it soft.

“I’m sorry, you were talking about your tattoos.”

“Oh, right. Well. Roman’s the newest edition,” Qrow finished pointing to the last R on the back of his shoulder where the music scale faded from existence.

_Roman._

Ozpin recalled the casual intimacy between them at the bar, a twinge of envy at how Roman had kissed Qrow’s cheek.

“I see,” he said. “That’s a lovely gesture to your family. And…friends.”

“If only they shared your point of view. They insist it is so I don’t forget their names since I run free. But even so, you can’t forget your roots…they shape the tree.”

“They sound nice, your family,” Ozpin said softly, as they made the turn onto his home street. “So many of them…I imagine it’s difficult to be lonely.”

“I don’t see them as often as I should,” Qrow admitted. “They don’t live here in the city, so I only get to see them every few months. Other than that, it’s couch and bed hoppin’ with whoever will have me,” Qrow hesitated, undoubtedly noticing the scrunch of Ozpin’s nose as he considered the repercussions. 

“I know, I know,” he continued. “It’s dangerous, and most disapprove. But it beats the hell out of going into debt just to rent a roof I wouldn’t stay under anyway. I like being free too much. Goin’ where the wind takes me or some shit. God, I sound existential. Maybe I should have grabbed a cocktail,” he laughed. “Long story short, I’m not against stickin’ around, just haven’t found a good enough reason to yet.”

“I – ”

_I could be a reason._

Ozpin swallowed the words, just sober enough to know the wisdom of keeping them inside. 

“I understand,” he said instead. “Well. Given what you’ve done for me, you have an open invitation here. Literally here,” he added, laughing quietly at his own joke, motioning at the stoop where he stopped them. “I teach at the university – I think I mentioned that. And my hours aren’t always consistent, but I do quite a lot of work from home. You’re welcome to my couch, or – ” 

_Best not to vocalize that, either._

“Or the contents in my kitchen. I would feel better knowing you had a roof over your head and food in your stomach.”

“What’s the line about relying on the kindness of strangers?” Qrow asked, with a lopsided grin. His smile was lovely, crooked and all, transparent and genuine.

“I’m happy to offer what I have,” Ozpin said softly, reluctantly breaking eye contact to reach for his keys. Qrow helped him up the stairs (Ozpin was sober enough by now to navigate them himself, but the most selfish parts of him refused to mention that) and Ozpin unlocked the door, guiding Qrow inside until his fingers could locate the light switch.

The living room was small, but it faced a great bay window, a suede green sofa front and center. 

“If you prefer the bed, I could take the sofa,” Ozpin said. “My bedroom is just upstairs. The back leads to the kitchen, and my second bedroom has been converted into an office. I’m afraid it’s just the one bed. I don’t often have company.”

“Not a problem,” Qrow drawled, surveying the layout and whistling. “Hell, I’d take the floor in nice digs like this. But I will steal your shower if you don’t mind. Ya know, so I don’t stink up the place with,” he gestured vaguely to his still moist chest.

“Oh, right, of course,” Ozpin said, thinking very hard about anything but Qrow in the shower, water running down inked skin and the divots of his muscles, hair wet and falling into his eyes, that damnable belt finally loosened –

“I’ll get you fresh towels,” he said abruptly, and hurried upstairs. He stopped in the hall, in front of the closet, leaning his forehead against the door.

_How am I supposed to be just friends?_

He steeled himself with a deep breath, pulling a clean towel from the closet and placing it on the bathroom counter. Another breath and he went downstairs, offering a smile to hide the tension.

“Just upstairs,” he said. “Take all the time you need. Oh, there’s a bathrobe in your belongings, although perhaps a wash first. Take mine. It’s hanging up on the bathroom door.”

“Talk about full service. I’ll have to think of how to repay you,” Qrow winked, causing Ozpin’s stomach to flip for the umpteenth time that night. He dropped his duffle on the floor near the couch, rummaging through it for a clear plastic bag containing toiletries. 

He watched Qrow head upstairs, sighing when he vanished from sight. Ozpin busied himself making a cup of hot tea while Qrow was engaged, hardly trusting his thoughts if he was near enough to hear the water running. 

A cup of chamomile and the pleasant silence of his kitchen after the culture shock of the club. Ozpin slumped at the table, placing his glasses beside his mug and closing his eyes. Everything had happened so quickly, chaos and confusion, and now there was a strange man in his shower. And Arthur –

Still silent, Ozpin’s phone quiet.

Ozpin sighed again. Perhaps he had not yet fallen in love with Arthur, but his abrupt absence stung, the hostile words they said when parting. He felt the stress of it all in his bones, an ache that persisted into muscle, into every movement.

_I want to sleep for a week._

Perhaps he would update his calendar for tomorrow – he didn’t teach on Fridays, and the department avoided Friday meetings as well, too near the weekend to bother with official business. Three days off to rest, to process today. 

_To more or less live with Qrow._

He groaned softly, hearing the squeak of the pipes as the water above shut off.

_Qrow climbing out of the shower, Qrow dripping wet, Qrow tying a towel around his waist –_

_Friends. Just friends._

This was going to be a disaster.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozpin wakes the morning after his adventures in Castro; the reality of his situation sinks in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience while we finished up this fic! The end of it grew to be something a bit larger than expected, so please enjoy the full ending, all at once. <3

Ozpin woke to the thud of blood in his ears and a piercing pain at the front of his skull.

_What..?_

_Oh._

The pounding brought forth immediate memories of the club, of the smirking redheaded bartender who poured too many generous drinks. The rest of the night was a bit of a blur, but – as Ozpin sat up with a soft groan, rubbing his eyes – he was clearly at home, in bed, safe and more or less in one piece. 

He slipped slowly from the sheets, feet feeling about for his slippers, trying to recall exactly what had convinced him to drink so heavily. Perhaps after he had left Arthur’s house –

_Oh._

Ozpin sat back down on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumping.

_Right. I was dumped._

Well, not exactly. Ozpin was certain he had left Arthur and not the other way around, but the pit in his stomach didn’t seem to make that distinction. The absence still ached, the possibility of what could have been.

_None of it, apparently. Not if Arthur is truly who he was last night._

Ozpin sighed, letting himself flop back against the sheets, staring at the ceiling. 

_What do I do now?_

Theoretically, he would go through a grieving process. He wondered absently if he could get through each stage and be done with it by Monday, because he had several classes and a departmental meeting and dreaded the idea of a colleague asking if everything was all right.

Coffee would help. Coffee always helped.

Ozpin pushed himself up again, feet firmly in slippers. He couldn’t find the dark green robe that usually hung on the bathroom door and so went without, padding downstairs in little more than his boxers. Arthur wasn’t here to begrudge him propriety, and Ozpin’s coffee mug would hardly protest. 

He yawned, starting the coffee and rummaging in the cabinets for aspirin, taking two without water, wincing as they scraped their way down his throat.

_Twenty minutes and I’ll be myself again._

He sat down and unlocked his phone, checking his messages. Several emails, all work. No texts. 

_Of course not. Glynda thinks I’m on a romantic weekend and I no longer have a boyfriend._

His head hit the table and he sighed, breath leaving condensation on the wood. 

_I’m too old to feel like a heartbroken teenager._

Like everything, he had assumed, on some level, that he could plot out romance the same way he plotted out every other facet of his life. Bachelor’s degree by twenty-one, PhD by twenty-six, tenured professor by thirty-one. A life scheduled around classes, around meetings, a strict morning routine, a strict evening routine, dates planned with open calendars, everything planned meticulously - dates, coffees, even sex.

_Is that normal?_

Ozpin couldn’t be sure. Last night had been a deviation from all of it, and now he longed for either the safe strictness of his life before last night, or to repeat last night altogether – reckless wandering, loud nightclubs, drinks bought for him because other men liked his face. 

_Liberation._

But from what, Ozpin wasn’t sure. Everything, perhaps.

The coffee machine beeped and he rose automatically, pulling a green mug from the cupboard. He poured the coffee and took a sip, wincing at the burn. But the heat and the smell soothed him, a familiarity after everything he was not certain he had done last night. 

A cup of coffee, a hot shower – no, a long bath, and a book. Something to distract. Perhaps in the afternoon, tea and grading, to keep up with work –

“Hey, Oz.”

Ozpin jumped, the mug slipping from his fingers, landing on the edge of the counter and going flying, the scald of it against his skin. It crashed on the floor as he whirled and backed against the counter, heart pounding as his eyes landed on a scruffy man – 

\- in Ozpin’s bathrobe.

_Qrow._

“Oh, god,” Ozpin said thoughtlessly.

“Ah. Regret,” Qrow said knowingly. “Is that from the hangover, or cause I’m wearing your modesty and not much else?” He made a show of untying the robe as though to give it back and Ozpin’s eyes grew twice their size.

“Oh, _god,_ no, please!” Ozpin whirled back around, his face burning almost as much as the splash of coffee down his hand and arm, the skin beginning to throb.

_Qrow’s here._

_I invited him._

_Here._

How had he forgotten?

“Please, keep it,” Ozpin stammered. “On, I mean. Please.”

“Relax, Oz. I put on pants. You look like you need it more than I do.”

Ozpin hazarded a glance back, eyes dropping from tattooed flesh to the charcoal sweatpants Qrow referenced. “Oh,” he said. “Ah…thank you.” He took the proffered bathrobe, slipping it over his shoulders, wincing at the contact of where the coffee had scalded him. “I’m sorry. I…forgot you were here.”

“I noticed,” came the reply, with an amused chuckle. “You aren’t used to wakin’ up to people in your house, are you?” 

Ozpin watched Qrow stoop to mop up the coffee with a towel, picking up the pieces of the broken mug while Ozpin calmed the pace of his heart. 

“Ah, no. Not at all. Arthur – well. He preferred me to stay at his house.” Ozpin watched Qrow put the broken ceramic in the trash. “Thank you, I – oh!” 

Qrow took Ozpin’s hand in his, turning the palm up as Ozpin winced. “Got yourself pretty good, huh?” He turned on the water and twisted the faucet to cold, guiding Ozpin’s hand under the stream. Ozpin let out a breath at the coolness of it, the throb beginning to ease.

The throb of his heart, however –

“T-thank you,” he murmured, not trusting himself to look Qrow in the eye.

“For crashing on your couch, scaring the shit outta you, and causin’ an injury? You’re welcome.”

“No, I meant – ” _God,_ Qrow flustered him, with his presence and his spontaneity and his now naked torso and his nearness and his kindness –

“No, for…this.” 

“Yeah, well, thanks for giving me a place to stay for the night. Not everyone is willing to trust a stranger in their house overnight, ‘specially when they look like me.”

Ozpin followed the gesture toward Qrow’s chest and immediately felt himself flush again, tearing his gaze away. “Ah. Yes, well. You had been kind to me. I wanted to return the gesture. And I’m sorry if I…said anything last night. I…don’t entirely recall some of it. Not well, in any case.”

Ozpin watched as the grin fell into a frown, the act causing his own wave of disappointment. “You mean you don’t remember trying to get me into your bed last night?”

_“What?!”_ Ozpin almost wrenched his hand away, looking up at Qrow, desperate for a sign that he was joking. “I didn’t - _we_ didn’t – oh lord – ”

“You even tried to protest when I turned you down…”

Ozpin stared, lips parted in horror.

_I made a perfect ass of myself. It’s a miracle he’s even still here._

“I – I’m sorry,” Ozpin spluttered, face on fire now. “I didn’t think that I – I’m not usually – if you had just put on a _shirt – ”_

But Qrow began to laugh. 

_Is he joking?_

Relief, and then indignation – 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Qrow said. “You were offering to take the couch, but I wouldn’t have it. Can’t take the bed unless it’s a spare, or I’m sharin’ it.”

Ozpin blinked.

_Sharing._

_Sharing the bed._

_No, no, I couldn’t possibly -_

“Don’t worry, Oz. You were a perfect gentleman and we agreed to be just friends.”

Just as quickly as the blood had shot into his cheeks, Ozpin felt it drain. “You – you’re awful,” he muttered, sagging against the counter. “I thought – ”

_I thought I had acted on what I wanted._

“Yeah, well, you knew that already. Good ol’ Arty prolly ran his mouth on me enough to make it sound like belong on the ‘Most Wanted’ list.”

“No, I – ” Ozpin managed a weak laugh. “I’m sorry, this has just been a lot to take in.” He shut off the water, reluctantly withdrawing his hand. 

_Just friends._

“I am glad you’re here,“ he said softly. “I think I could use a friend today. And…perhaps a pair of pants.”

“I’d offer you mine, but given your reaction to the robe earlier, I’ll give you a break before you have a heart attack.”

Ozpin laughed, more out of nervousness than amusement, the blush threatening to return. “Oh, I didn’t mean – I just – ” He swallowed, desperate for the coffee that he had instead thrown across the floor. 

“You’re just terribly good looking.”

It took two entire seconds before he realized he had spoken aloud.

Ozpin flailed, watching Qrow’s eyebrows raise, his smile grow into a pleased smirk, like a smug cat. 

“I mean – ”

“I could say the same thing about you,” Qrow interrupted, ignoring Ozpin’s stammers. He gave Ozpin a knowing look. _“Friend.”_

Ozpin’s stomach did at least half a dozen flips, his unburned hand clutching at the countertop. He could think of absolutely nothing to say to that, visions instead of Qrow perhaps acting in the manner of some romantic hero and simply pulling Ozpin into a kiss and prevent him from responding entirely.

Instead, Ozpin managed a very faint, “Thank you.”

Time passed, each gazing into the other’s eyes, Ozpin feeling the room shrinking, drawing the two men closer to one another. 

“You should go sit down at the table,” Qrow whispered, Ozpin certain he felt his breath on his lips. “Before I do something that’s a little too friendly.” 

_Please do._

“Oh – right.” Ozpin tore his eyes away, feeling Qrow’s follow him, pulling out a chair and falling into it, with all the weight of the moment that had just passed. His stomach still fluttered, simply by the proximity of Qrow, the thrill of seeing, for a few certain seconds, that Qrow seemed to want Ozpin just as much.

_Friends. Just friends just friends just friends -_

Qrow placed a fresh mug of coffee in front of him and Ozpin jumped anew, his mantra broken.

“You take it black?”

“Yes,” Ozpin said, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Other than excruciating sexual tension, what are friends for?”

Ozpin looked up at that, staring at Qrow, aghast. “I – I’m not – ”

_Someone help me._

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” he said at last, with far more confidence than he felt, and focused on very determinedly drinking his coffee.

“That went over about as smooth as that redheaded kid that tried to pick you up last night.”

“Who…?” Ozpin blinked, trying to recall –

“Oh no.”

His student, Scarlet David.

He turned his horrified expression toward Qrow, who sipped a cup of coffee himself. “You…you saw that?”

“Yep. Didn’t know it was you at the time though, not from the stage. What’d you do to make him hightail it outta there so fast? That was a quick shutdown even for singles’ night.”

“He…he recognized me,” Ozpin murmured, his stomach twisting in a wholly uncomfortable way now. “He’s a student in one of my biochem classes…”

Qrow whistled. “Lucky guy. I mighta stayed in school if I had hot professors like you.”

For the second time that morning, Ozpin’s head met the tabletop and he groaned. “This is a disaster,” he whined. “I found out my boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – is some manner of jackass, I made a perfect fool of myself at a gay nightclub, and outted myself to a student in a spectacular way. And I continue to make an ass of myself because you never seem to wear a _shirt!”_ His voice rose in pitch with panic and he struck his forehead once more against the table.

“Whoa, whoa,” Qrow said, pulling him upright. He met Ozpin’s eyes and gave a small smile. “Is that a compliment or complaint?”

Despite his frustration, Ozpin managed a soft chuckle. “I’m not wholly certain,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve planned my life out in a very specific manner, and now it feels like I’ve thrown it all away. I’m…floundering.”

“Good,” Qrow said, leaning against the counter. “It’ll force you to live in the moment and appreciate what life has put in front of you. If you’re constantly planning the future, you can’t see what you’re missing in the present.”

Ozpin regarded him miserably. “You sound like your friend Roman.” Ozpin traced the handle of his mug. “Being closeted seemed…easier than all this.”

“Easier doesn’t mean less painful, does it?” Qrow bumped himself up off the counter to offer a hand on Ozpin’s shoulder, a squeeze of reassurance.

Ozpin slumped under the weight of the touch, of the question. 

“No,” he said softly. 

“Welcome to a liberated homosexual lifestyle,” Qrow said, motioning like a model on a game show. “Comes with optional live-in guide on how to survive the city. I’m available most nights of the week, so long as you don’t mind the hours.”

“You would stay?” Ozpin asked, lifting his head to shoot a look of hope upward. “I don’t want to impose. I’m sure I’m quite a lot of bother – ”

“Stop tryin’ to talk me out of it,” Qrow said, grinning. “Come on, Oz, if I didn’t want to help, I wouldn’t keep offering.”

“Thank you.” Ozpin’s eyes dropped to the hand on his shoulder, feeling an urge to reach up and take it in his. “So…now what?”

“You heal. You move on. Have some coffee, take a shower. Don’t let Arthur own you anymore.”

Ozpin nodded slowly. Qrow was right; he needed to process all of this before he could even consider asking Qrow out properly. “What are you doing to do today?”

“Me?” Qrow said, sipping his coffee pensively. “Kick back on your couch, drink your coffee. Work on some playlists. I have to work tonight.”

“But you’ll be back?”

Qrow chuckled, his hand lifting from Ozpin’s shoulder to give him a few fond pats. “Yeah, Oz. I won’t leave you high and dry.”

“Thank you.” He did reach up and take Qrow’s hand now, a quick squeeze of gratitude and nothing more, releasing it and slipping from his chair. “Please help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I think I will have that shower.”

“Good. Relax.”

“And Qrow?” Ozpin hesitated at the threshold. “Perhaps just…forget my improper state this morning.”

Qrow grinned. “Not a chance, Oz.”

Oz bit back a smile, retreating to the stairs, feeling his stomach flutter anew.

_Just friends,_ he thought, still smiling as he reached the landing. A cute lie, for however long they could pretend.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow begins Ozpin's "training"; Ozpin hopes that a day together as friends can become something more

_“Good MORNIN’, OZ!”_

Ozpin jerked awake, sitting up so quickly the room spun, heart pounding. Before he could register more than the streams of sunlight pushing through his curtains, he felt a great weight fall onto the bed, two hands grabbing at his face and turning it.

He blinked blearily, Qrow’s bright, alert eyes coming into focus.

“Wha…?”

“Time to get up!” Qrow said, Ozpin wincing at the volume. Qrow released his face and bounded off the bed, pulling the curtains open with a shrill ring of metal, the sudden brightness blinding. “We have a busy day!”

Ozpin blinked rapidly, squinting in the light. “We…what?”

“Your training starts today!” Qrow rounded the bed, pulling Ozpin from the warm sheets.

“Wait, I – ” Ozpin flailed, trying to cover his bare torso. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“Training!” Qrow said, grinning as his eyes roved appreciatively over Ozpin’s body, stopping at the elastic band of his boxers.

The professor flushed hotly.

_It is entirely too early for this._

“Today I’m gonna teach you how to be gay in this city,” Qrow said, still grinning. “So up and at ‘em. Into the shower so we can get moving.” He pushed Ozpin toward the bathroom, ignoring all of the professor’s protests.

“You’re – what? Qrow – ”

“Into the shower or I’ll strip you myself,” Qrow said, with a wink that made Ozpin blush into silence.

He slammed the door in Qrow’s face, taking a long breath as he steadied himself against the sink.

“I don’t hear running water!” Qrow said from the other side.

“Go away!” Ozpin shouted. He pulled the shower curtain open violently, turning the knob to start the water.

He glanced at the clock: just after eight. _The bastard could have at least waited until nine._ But he was quite awake now, yawning as he tested the water for warmth. 

_What have I gotten myself into now?_

When Ozpin came downstairs, Qrow was waiting on the sofa, dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket, hair coiffed just so, tapping a foot impatiently. 

_He looks handsome,_ Ozpin thought before he could help it. _I need coffee before I say something incriminating._

Qrow jumped to his feet, taking Ozpin by the arm before the professor could escape into the kitchen. “You look good. Ready?”

_I look good? Did he say –_

“I – I don’t think – ” Ozpin stammered.

“Trick question, Oz. No one is ever really ready to come outta the closet. But I’ll be with you the whole way, so don’t worry.”

Surprisingly, the statement did comfort Ozpin to some degree, and so he let Qrow drag him out the front door, pulling him down the stoop the moment Ozpin had locked the door.

“Where are we going?” Ozpin said, squinting in the morning sunlight. 

“Breakfast,” Qrow said. “Most important meal of the day.”

“You didn’t let me have coffee,” Ozpin said, his tone turning whiny despite his attempts not to.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Qrow said.

“Not by wearing a shirt,” Ozpin muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Ozpin said loudly, catching the smirk on Qrow’s face.

“We’re spending the day in Castro,” Qrow said. “No easin’ into things today. You’ve had your whole life for that.”

“I – I don’t know – ”

“That, or I out you by kissin’ you in the middle of your neighborhood,” Qrow said, pulling on Ozpin’s arm until he collided into Qrow’s chest, his face too close. Qrow’s smirk suggested a joke, but Ozpin’s eyes dropped to his lips before he could stop it. 

“Qrow,” Ozpin whispered. “I…”

“Kidding,” Qrow muttered, in a tone that implied the exact opposite.

Ozpin pushed him away, faking a laugh. 

“Come on,” Qrow said, taking Ozpin’s arm again, and they walked in silence, as though Qrow struggled with their repeated vows of friendship just as much as Ozpin did.

_A day together, but not a date._

Not in so many words.

And so Ozpin, still not fully awake, was left wondering why they stepped into a cookie shop before they have even had breakfast – or coffee. The bakery was a hole in the wall, marked only by a white sign with bold red lettering: HOT COOKIE. Qrow pushed his way inside, Ozpin squinting at a brightly lit, welcoming, white shop, everything accented neon rainbow highlights – pleasant, but not subtle.

“The Rainbow Walk is just ahead,” Qrow said, pointing out the front window. “Ever been?”

“No,” Ozpin said, following Qrow’s movement with his eyes. An entire city devoted to civil rights - _his_ civil rights – and Ozpin had spent thirty years hiding it, pushing it away.

_Out of sight, out of mind._ Brought forth only on the longer, lonelier nights.

“Two of your dark specialties.” Ozpin heard Qrow’s voice without registering it, eyes still trailing the rainbow banners that hung proudly from lampposts.

“Cream?” the cashier asked, all smiles. Ozpin glanced at her and she extended the smile to him, bright orange hair with electric blue highlights, pulled into two tight buns on either side of her head.

“Extra on his,” Qrow said, grinning at Ozpin, who rolled his eyes. “Oh, and rainbow sprinkles.”

_Naturally,_ Ozpin thought. _What was he up to now?_

“ _Coming_ right up,” the shop girl said, winking.

“What part of my training requires cookies for breakfast?” Ozpin asked dryly, as Qrow rejoined him at the window.

“Food is a very important part of every culture, Oz.”

Ozpin rolled his eyes, still too caffeine-deprived to be graceful about this adventure. “Somehow I have the greatest reservations regarding your taste,” he said.

“Then you’ll just have to _taste_ for yourself…” Qrow nudged him playfully and Ozpin had to will the automatic flush down.

The girl returned with two paper trays, beaming. Qrow took them, Ozpin catching sight of dark chocolate, rainbow sprinkles, and entirely too much whipped cream.

_Sugar will do in a pinch for caffeine,_ Ozpin thought ruefully.

“Ah, perfect! Thanks, darlin’,” Qrow drawled, passing Ozpin a cookie. “Now we can hit the Rainbow Walk.”

Ozpin looked down at the flimsy tray he was given, eyes widening at the distinct shape of a man’s –

“Qrow!” he hissed, even as Qrow dragged him from the shop, back into the sunlight. “You cannot possibly expect me – in _public – ”_ He felt the blush profoundly, eyes still locked on the obscene cookie. “You got extra whipped cream on purpose,” he accused.

“You gotta your first time,” Qrow said, tongue slipping out to play with the whipped cream on his own cookie. “Besides, it’s Castro, this is normal. Now if you’re good and finish it by the time we get to the end of the Rainbow Walk, we’ll get you coffee at this killer café so you can berate me properly.” He offered a teasing smile, nudging Ozpin along with his elbow again.

Ozpin stared, not hearing a word Qrow said after he licked the whipped cream from his cookie, the action innocent and lewd simultaneously. 

“What’s the matter? Don’t like whipped cream?” He popped the tip of his cookie in his mouth, expertly sucking off the chocolate.

_Oh lord oh good god -_

“No, I – ” Ozpin stared too long before he coughed and tore his eyes away, feeling the heat on his face, the twist of his gut. 

_He’s doing this on purpose,_ he thought, temper flaring along with his blush. _Well, turnabout is fair play._

Ozpin picked up his cookie, and with every ounce of confidence he could fake, mimicked the action.

Qrow’s eyes widened, his stare overt. 

_Who’s interested now?_ Ozpin thought, almost proud of himself.

Then, with a clearing of his throat, Qrow grinned as though delighted. “Nice technique!” 

Qrow threw an arm around Ozpin’s shoulders as they walked, overly comfortable. Ozpin choked, struggling to swallow while severely embarrassed, trying very hard not to look to see how many people had witnessed his moment of shameless bravado. Irritably, he bit the tip of the cookie off entirely, shooting Qrow a glare.

Qrow winced.

“It’s actually very good,” Ozpin murmured, temper fading in light of quite a lot of sugar – the second-best thing to caffeine.

“As your new best friend, I couldn’t steer you wrong. I have a duty to bring you up proper.” Qrow absentmindedly worked the cookie in his mouth, an action Ozpin couldn’t help but describe as _deepthroating._

“I – I see,” Ozpin stammered, who saw entirely _too_ much, his stomach twisting at the thought of being envious of a cookie. “Please say I’m allowed extra shots in my latte,” he muttered, once more tearing his gaze from Qrow’s continuously vulgar actions.

“Mmm. I’ll give you as much as you can handle…” 

Ozpin noticed the lingering glance, Qrow sucking hard enough on the cookie – now without there being any chocolate on it, as if he was mentally picturing sucking – something else entirely. 

Ozpin was practically on fire with the realization, face burning, stomach flipping with the thought of Qrow eager to -

Qrow bit off his tip of his cookie, and Ozpin flinched at the abrupt end of his fantasy. Qrow dropped his arm from Ozpin’s shoulders, as though now there was too much tension between them and they required the physical space. “I’m good friends with the owner, Odd Oob.”

“Oh,” Ozpin said, flinching again at the breathlessness of his voice. He cleared his throat, pushing the blush down, trying to focus on Qrow’s words rather than the looks they incessantly gave one another. “The owner of a coffee shop sounds like a good friend to have.” A forced lightness in his tone, false and fake, but better than mentioning anything he had actually been thinking.

“Oh, yeah. He’s crazy, but in the best way. Like a mad scientist for coffee, and he makes this – this – I don’t even know what it is – but it will kill any hangover if it doesn’t kill you first. Roman and I got into this drinking contest with some frat boys and – well…heh…can’t say I remember too much, other than coming too and Odd Obb yelling ‘Eureka!’ and Roman locking himself in the bathroom for four hours.”

Ozpin shot Qrow an incredulous look. “You have…quite a lot of adventures, don’t you?” He popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth, hoping for the rush of sugar to give him the energy to survive the rest of his _training._

“If I don’t have them now, when will I?”

Ozpin considered this statement, wise enough to surprise him into silence. “I suppose I never thought of it in that way,” he said softly.

“Hence our adventure today.” 

Qrow grabbed Ozpin’s hand and guided him down the Rainbow Walk, pointing at the figures on plaques, (Qrow pausing at the one for Freddie Mercury, Ozpin lingering at Oscar Wilde), pulling Ozpin through various shops, Qrow explaining that the adult content there made certain that no one blinked at the cookies they had just finished on the street.

Ozpin took it all in silently, slowly realizing that perhaps this was bigger than his personal reservations – there was an entire world here, at his doorstep, that he didn’t know existed. One that he may belong to.

But he was here, Qrow’s hand in his, and somehow the discovery didn’t feel frightening.

They paused at a coffee shop that resembled a novelty science lab, décor in sleek polished metal, the walls painted with complex mathematics that Ozpin barely recalled from his years in college and chemical equations he daily taught. The menu boasted products far removed from their common names – lattes and caffeinated drinks named after jet engines and space shuttles.

“You’ve been waiting for this all morning, so I’ll ask: did you want to order, or do you trust me?” Qrow gave him half a smile, an apology for the blitzkrieg of a penis-shaped cookie first thing in the morning.

Ozpin glanced up at the menu again. A simple question that somehow, in the light of what Qrow was doing for him, felt more significant. They still held hands, neither seeming to mind – or wishing to let go.

“I trust you,” he said.

Qrow squeezed Ozpin’s hand, a gesture of gratitude and reassurance.

“Two Zeniths, double hydrazine and light on the nitrogen tetroxide. Dash of my custom polymer.”

“I take it back,” Ozpin murmured. “Do I want to know what that means?”

“Latte, double shot, light on the milk, dash of my own personal flavor,” Qrow recited.

“Oh.” Ozpin peered at the menu, trying to follow the terminology. “What is your flavor blend? Or is it proprietary?” he teased. 

“Chicory mostly, but I’ll send my people after if you spill the secret,” Qrow said. “Gives it a nice bit of smoke and spice.” He accepted the drinks, handing one to Ozpin, who inhaled the steam, closing his eyes.

_Finally, caffeine._

“So what next?” Ozpin said, lifting the lid to blow on the foam. “I somehow doubt we’re going to enjoy these in a leisurely manner.”

Qrow chuckled. “You’re learning my habits. We can enjoy the coffee for a bit. You’ll need the energy for the shopping coming up.”

“Shopping?” Ozpin said, eyes raising from his coffee. “I don’t need a new wardrobe, do I?”

“Nah. But we do need shirts for tonight. By the way, since I treated to breakfast and coffee, you’re getting lunner. The hazards of wakin’ you up early. I’ve got drinks later.”

“Oh. Of course, I don’t mind treating,” Ozpin said. “Am I allowed to ask about tonight and why the dress code is different? I didn’t think to dress up, but these _are_ chinos…”

“Chinos are perfect, but we’ll need statement pieces for cocktail hours.”

“I hesitate to ask what manner of statement,” Ozpin muttered.

“You’ll see,” Qrow said, with a grin that suggested Ozpin may regret it. “Ready for the next stop?”

“Oh. I suppose so, if I can take my coffee,” Ozpin said, hastily putting the lid back on. “It’s very good, by the way. I see why you made this your personal blend.”

“Yeah, well, what are friends for if not spilling the tea? Oh! Do you prefer auditory learning, or reading? We may need to get you a gay dictionary if you visit me at work more often.”

“I learn well regardless,” Ozpin said dryly, following Qrow out of the coffee shop, feeling vaguely disappointed by Qrow called them _friends_ and shattering the growing hopes this could turn into something else. 

Despite knowing what this was, it was too easy to think about what it could be.

“Your friend Roman tried to explain some of the…terms to me, although I admit I don’t recall them well. He said you were a…wolf?”

“Yeah,” Qrow chuckled. “Means a lot more than it sounds like. In short, I’m young but not too young, facial hair, lean, muscular, assertive, and horny as hell. Especially that last one. I know what I want, and I don’t hesitate to go after it.” 

He shot Ozpin a meaningful look, Ozpin uncertain whether to meet his eyes, thoughts lingering entirely too long on phrases like _assertive_ and _horny,_ feeling the too-familiar blush trying to bloom anew. “We’re going to need to get a you a dictionary, otherwise you’re going to think we’re stuttering talking about zoos over afternoon tea.”

“There…must be labels for everything,” Ozpin said faintly.

_If he wants me, he’s certainly hesitating,_ Ozpin thought. _Either I’m reading him incorrectly, or he’s trying to be patient for my sake._

It was a sweet thought, unbearably so, and made Ozpin want nothing more than to shove Qrow against the coffee shop wall and kiss him to make Qrow know exactly where they stood. Instead, he kept his gaze firmly on his coffee, certain that if he made eye contact with Qrow, his thoughts would be broadcast all over his face.

_He’s so different than Arthur,_ Ozpin thought, sipping his coffee. _Thoughtful, kind, generous. Like night and day._

“Kinda quiet there, Oz,” Qrow said, glancing at him. “You okay?”

“Yes, thank you. Just thinking,” Ozpin said. “So, with all your labels, where do I fall? Some sort of cat, or other temperamental creature?”

“Nah, you’re a silver fox,” Qrow said matter-of-factly. “Not entirely a gay term, but if the shoe fits.”

“Typecast for my premature hair color,” Ozpin said, with a rueful smile.

“Not at all,” Qrow said, pressing for the crosswalk at the curb. “Sure, it’s a great look for you, but you’re also older than the kids at the club, you dress like you have your shit together – no wonder the twinks were all over you. You’re the hot professor.”

Ozpin chewed on his lip, face warm despite the ocean breeze that swept by. “Thank you. Although I’m not sure how to feel about attracting younger men. I prefer someone a bit…closer to my age.”

The glance at Qrow was automatic, a quick determination to ensure he wasn’t much younger than Ozpin; but then again, Qrow’s facial hair lent him an older air, and so Ozpin returned his eyes to his coffee, trying very hard not to think about anything at all.

“Age doesn’t always mean too much in gay culture. Some people have their shit together early on, and some people are free spirits until they go out in a blaze of glory. It’s more of a chemistry thing, really. You mesh with who you mesh with. Some people are more flexible than others.

“Take that couple over there as an example,” he said, motioning with his coffee toward a pair of men walking, hand in hand, shoulders bumping as a consequence of their closeness. “You can tell by their body language that they’re infatuated with each other. Likely an early relationship in the honeymoon phase, but they have an interest to commit to one another. Notice how they aren’t scoping out other options, _despite_ the fact that I’m here.” 

Ozpin, who had listened intently to the lecture until this point, couldn’t stop the snort that escaped him. The careless confidence was amusing – charming, knowing that Qrow meant it as much as he didn’t.

“Do you often read others in terms of their level of attraction to you?” Ozpin teased.

“How else could I couch surf so successfully? They have to have some level of interest, even if it’s platonic, or they wouldn’t trust a stranger past their threshold.”

“I…suppose so,” Ozpin mused, attempting not to dwell on how much Qrow’s appearance had helped convince Ozpin to invite him to his own house. “For the record,” he said aloud, “I offered you a place to stay because of how kind you were to me.”

“Sure, Oz.” Qrow smirked annoyingly, his tone polished with sarcasm. “Anyway, I’m on the other end of the spectrum: flexible enough to have chemistry with just about anyone, and don’t have particular short-term tastes.”

_Short-term._

The phrase almost made Ozpin flinch. “And…what about long-term tastes?” he asked, forcing a casual tone to his voice.

“Those are different.”

Silence fell between them, until Ozpin braved a glance up, finding Qrow’s eyes doing an agonizingly slow study of his body, as though memorizing the details.

Ozpin looked away just as quickly as he had hazarded a glance in the first place, raising his coffee automatically to hide the blush. The conversation they were not having aloud made him ache to just ask Qrow, point-blank, if they could make this day out a _date_ out, and yet that forwardness scared him back into silence. 

“Truth be told, I’ve only been interested in long term once or twice before. One ended early on because I couldn’t commit as fast as they wanted – which is fair. They wanted immediate husband material, and everyone knows my name won’t be popping up on that list anytime soon. The other one…

“We ended up becoming best friends with some benefits when we get too pent up between relationships. I look out for him, he looks out for me, and we wouldn’t trade each other for the world. The intimacy we have doesn’t extend to the sex, it’s too deep for that. The sex happens just cause we’re horny, but not for each other. I guess it did become long term in a sense, but I can see why it would be nice to have intimacy in a sexual relationship.”

Ozpin listened to this moment of openness silently, letting Qrow speak without interruption. 

_So Roman is more than just a friend._

It made perfect sense, of course, how well they seemed to know each other at the club, Roman clearly analyzing Ozpin’s motives toward Qrow before allowing Ozpin to see him, Roman being the safe roof over Qrow’s head when he couldn’t find another -

And yet now, Ozpin felt no twinge of jealousy, except for the obvious closeness between them, something he was not sure he had ever known – even after a month with Arthur.

_Even just this morning with Qrow feels more intimate than my entire relationship with Arthur._

“I’m afraid we’re quite different in that regard,” Ozpin said aloud, willing to allow some frankness in return. “I’ve never been inclined to consider sex out of a relationship. Not until – ”

_You._

Ozpin clamped his mouth shut, horrified by how easily he nearly gave away all his secrets.

_Not that much frankness._

“Some hot piece of ass told you there are other options?” Qrow cocked his head at Ozpin, smile turning into a smirk.

“I don’t think I would be very good at it,” Ozpin stammered, blushing violently. “Not that I’m bad – at sex, I mean.”

A new wave of heat, of horror, as Ozpin stumbled his way through his explanation.

“That’s not what I – I mean that I don’t think I could distinguish,” he rushed. “I…I see sex as something…emotional. I don’t think I would be able to keep from…feeling things.” He avoided looking at Qrow altogether, certain he had made a fool of himself yet again, but hoping his meaning came across regardless.

“Mmm. Let me know if you ever want to test that theory,” Qrow said, almost careless with how easily he let the matter drop. That is, until Ozpin felt the unmistakable sensation of a hand playfully pat his rear. Ozpin yelped, clapping a hand over his mouth and shooting Qrow a glare that, no doubt, lost all effectiveness as his face burned.

“It wouldn’t work at all if I already – ” Ozpin broke off, red-faced, yet again too eager to spill everything at the slightest encouragement from Qrow.

_If I already have feelings for you._

“Never mind,” he said, and tipped the last of his coffee down his throat. 

“What was that? You’ll have to speak up sometimes, club music and all…” Qrow chuckled, gesturing at his ears.

“Noted,” Ozpin said, too loudly. “What did you have next on our list today?”

“It’s easier to just pick ‘em out.” They had wandered into an array of tourist novelty shops, Qrow guiding Ozpin through a door and into a room filled with rainbows – shirts, socks, hats, umbrellas – nothing was without. Qrow dragged him through the racks of violent color, stopping in front of a wall of Hawaiian shirts. “How do you feel about tiki?”

“Oh, I – “ Ozpin skimmed all the aggressively rainbow shirts. “These are…very bright. Am I required to wear something like this? It’s like a beacon…”

“Exactly! I kinda like this one on you.” Qrow pressed a dark green shirt with rainbow flowers against his chest.

“Oh?” Ozpin raised a skeptical eyebrow, taking the shirt and holding it up regardless. “Does this work for our…purposes?”

“Yep. Figure I’ll be the primary - what did you call it? Beacon? How’s this?” Qrow held up a shirt with a bold, blended rainbow sunset with backlit black palm trees and a tiki god figure that no doubt blessed men’s fertility given the size of his -

Ozpin stared. He tried very, very hard not to but found it impossible to tear his eyes away.

“It’s…it’s a statement piece,” he said faintly. “We’re going to wear these…in public?”

“Relax.” Qrow laughed at the mild terrified look Ozpin was no doubt sporting. “It’s a gay tiki bar. You go there _to_ wear things like this.” He shuffled through the shirts, fingering the tags until plucking a hanger up with a satisfied noise - a size obviously too small.

But he could pull it off.

“…oh,” Ozpin said, not entirely believing him. _A gay bar._ The thought was quietly pleasant, a softer version of the gay club from the other night. “That…sounds nice. Even with _that_ shirt.”

“Great! Then let’s grab some grub, then hit the club. Er…bar. Can’t let you drink irresponsibly on an empty stomach.”

Ozpin watched Qrow take the shirts up to the front. 

“Please,” he said, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. “Let me. You’ve been generous enough with your time.” 

Qrow motioned at the counter and Ozpin paid, happy to finally contribute to the plans Qrow had clearly spent some time plotting.

“Do you have a place in mind for dinner?” Ozpin asked, as they left the shop. “Forgive me – I’m sure you do. Everything else seems impeccably planned today.”

“Yep. Frances. For once a place worth the hefty price tag. Hope you don’t mind, I figured you’d like at least one place that had some class. Gotta give you the full gay spectrum and all.”

_Frances._

Ozpin knew the restaurant by name – a favorite of Arthur’s, but one they had never gotten to. Arthur loved it – high-end American wine bar with a long wait list. The kind of place Arthur and Ozpin would love, and certainly not one Ozpin expected Qrow to know, appreciate – or get into.

“Oh,” he said, without thinking. “How can you get in? Arthur used to complain about the wait times.”

“I know a guy,” Qrow said, with a wink. “Never been?”

“No, but I’ve seen the menu. I’m very much looking forward to it.” Ozpin slipped his arm into Qrow’s as they left the shop, feeling as though, perhaps, he wasn’t completely lost in the day’s to-do list. Qrow crooked his elbow, pulling Ozpin closer so he could nestle comfortably against Qrow’s chest. 

“Had to do something to make sure you wouldn’t want to kick me out too soon.”

“Hmmm,” Ozpin said, as though thinking it over, his heart skipping pleasantly at the contact between them, feeling the vibration of Qrow’s diaphragm as he spoke. “I think I like you too much for that,” he said. “At the moment.”

Qrow sighed contentedly – at least, Ozpin was sure of that much. But he could have sworn, for a moment, that Qrow had murmured something else as well.

_“Me too.”_

Ozpin shot Qrow an uncertain glance, letting Qrow lead the way, stomach fluttering happily at the thought of what Qrow might have said, might have thought – all of it flattering, if his expression could be read correctly. And there was the way Qrow held Ozpin’s arm against him, Ozpin considering opening his hand to lay his palm fully against Qrow’s chest.

Half a day with Qrow and Ozpin was beginning to see – his time with Arthur had been greatly romanticized, two reserved men with culture and education in common and nothing else. There had been walls erected – everywhere with Arthur, hindering Ozpin’s ability to read him, to know anything about him beyond his favorite restaurants and the way he took his tea.

The way he judged others as beneath him.

But with Qrow – openness, honesty, an innate trust that anything Ozpin told Qrow would die with him, unspoken to others, unused for personal motivations. With Qrow, truths existed for no other reason than understanding, a rapid closeness that Ozpin had never before experienced. 

He felt, for the first time in so long, his loneliness slowly fading away.

Ozpin didn’t care where they went after Frances; he was in this now, Qrow’s hand clutched against his, like the two of them against the world, knowing that no matter what happened, Qrow was with him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow and Ozpin conclude their not-date and discuss a potential future...

Qrow insisted, as the hostess sat them in a quiet corner of the restaurant, a candle flickering dimly between them, that Ozpin choose the menu.

“You’re payin’,” he joked, but Ozpin could see through the façade of allowing Ozpin some control of the date, a safety that, given the uncertainty of the rest of their day, was probably wise.

And Ozpin, in turn, was well enough off with his tenured position, and so he ordered generously, determined to see that Qrow was not hungry or wanting – a small repayment of everything he had offered Ozpin.

Fresh oysters on the half shell (Qrow raised an eyebrow at this, but Ozpin refused to be baited), applewood smoked beignets with maple chive crème fraiche, the pappardelle with white wine-braised duck for Ozpin, the bavette steak for Qrow. Everything was perfection, but perhaps less because of the excellent chef and more for the happy company that would, every so often, reach out and touch Ozpin’s hand.

“So what is your next stop?” Ozpin asked, as they stepped out of the restaurant. He was full of excellent food, warm, slightly drowsy – no doubt not ideal for whatever Qrow had in mind. “I think you said drinks?”

_Drinking with Qrow. No doubt a bad idea given how likely I am to make a fool of myself with tipsy confessions._

And yet, he was not sure Qrow minded his little confessions, which was pleasant enough to make Ozpin’s stomach twist anew.

“Gay Hawaiian shirts and Last Rites,” Qrow announced, taking his hand again, as if it had become second nature, leading him across the street, the sun slowly beginning to set, the sky a pinkish orange over the city skyline.

“Is that…a metaphor?”

Qrow laughed. “It’s the name of the bar, Oz.”

“Oh!” Ozpin chuckled. “That’s reassuring. Are we supposed to change before?”

“Yep. We can in an alley on the way, unless…oh ah. You probably want a bathroom or something, huh? If you aren’t allergic to incense, Lil Loco is on the way, and she runs her business out of her place, so she has all the privacy you’ll need.”

Ozpin stared. “I’m sorry…who?”

“Lil Loco. She’s the best local psychic, lil crazy, but great entertainment at parties. Don’t worry, she won’t get mad at the nickname. In fact, I don’t think anyone knows her name anymore ‘sides Lil Loco.”

The alley was beginning to sound more and more appealing. “I…think I have to defer to your judgment,” Ozpin said hesitantly. 

“I don’t mind the alley if you don’t? It’s just a shirt. You get more naked at a beach.”

The very word _naked_ made Ozpin’s gut flip, memories of Qrow’s delicious shirtlessness flashing through his brain. 

“I…suppose I don’t mind,” Ozpin murmured.

_Changing clothes in public. This is how much he’s convinced me to do._

And yet the statement Qrow had made, hours ago, echoed in Ozpin’s mind.

_If I don’t have adventures now, when will I?_

It was almost dark when Qrow dragged them between two buildings, a narrow alley with enough shadow to conceal them. Qrow tossed the bag to Ozpin without a thought, already reaching to his collar to pull his shirt over his head. Ozpin buttoned his shirt with his back to Qrow, away from the street, convincing himself that this was not the scandal his mind claimed it to be.

He turned around to find Qrow shirtlessly doing one-armed pushups.

Ozpin’s hands dropped from his buttons, eyes wide – moving rapidly from Qrow’s arms, to his wonderfully bare back (muscles shifting with each pushup), to how taut he held his butt –

“What are you doing?” Ozpin asked, voice faint, fairly sure that if Qrow wished to stay in this alley all night, doing pushups, Ozpin would be happy to stay and watch.

“Preening so I can peacock.” Qrow glanced up at Ozpin to smile. “I like the shirt on you. It’d look better on your floor, but we’ll have to wait for that.”

Ozpin’s stomach jumped into his throat, blood threatening to pool too low. He looked away, blush furious, but unable to hold back the pleasure of the statement. This was, in every way but the spoken, something of a date, but the magic was in not mentioning it. Qrow had been clear in his aversion to committed relationships, and Ozpin in his need for them, and perhaps saying anything out loud would ruin the spell cast by simply being together.

Ozpin wished, not for the first time today, that he had Roman to talk to for guidance.

“I suppose if we didn’t wait, there is the risk of being arrested,” Ozpin murmured.

_Would Qrow press me against a wall? Rip the buttons from my shirt?_

“Depends on how far you’d let me take it.” Qrow jumped up, dusting his palms on his black jeans, pulling on the too-small shirt, the buttons and seams wanting to burst, the fabric conforming to his muscles nicely.

Ozpin’s eyes followed the fastening of too-tight fabric, strained buttons, the print stretching along with the flex of Qrow’s muscles.

“I…” Ozpin swallowed, shaking himself alert, shooting a glance toward the street. “I think I need that drink,” he muttered, shifting on his feet to shift blood into less conspicuous areas.

“Thought you might,” Qrow smirked, fastening a shark tooth necklace around his neck, the trinket accentuating his too-low neckline wrought from buttons too weak to cover his chest. 

_Shameless._

_He knows what he’s doing to me._

And yet Ozpin let him, tucking his dress shirt into the bag and following Qrow to the street, Qrow opening the door for him on a brightly lit bar sign. Qrow immediately dragged him toward an open corner of the bar, away from the lights and the noise.

Almost intimate.

He even ordered for Ozpin, familiar with the menu.

It was a world he knew like the back of his hand – the coffee shops and bakeries, the fine dining, the alleyways between bars, the way he acted with everyone – like they were old friends. 

_The man who could convince Qrow to settle down would be remarkable indeed – and so very lucky._

For the moment, Ozpin was grateful for one day.

“So what do you think?” Qrow teased, when the bartender placed a large, violently green drink in front of Ozpin, decorated with a great stake of fresh tropical fruit. “Figured you’d like something fruity.”

“Hah hah,” Ozpin said dryly. “I can appreciate alcohol neat, you know.” He adjusted his glasses and sipped the cocktail Qrow bought him – which tasted as tropical as it looked. “But yes…this is very nice, thank you.” He glanced about the bar, feeling far more comfortable here than in the club, with the loud music and too-overt men. “This is actually quite nice. I don’t think I mind gay bars in this vein.”

“They can be relaxed. Every venue is different, just like men, trick is to try them all and find what fits your tastes.”

Ozpin choked on his drink, coughing to breathe over the alcohol burn. “I – I am _quite_ sure I don’t share that sentiment,” he managed hoarsely. 

“Guess I’ll cancel the orgy,” Qrow said, and shrugged.

“You – you’re awful,” Ozpin said into his drink, blushing. “I can genuinely say that I’m not interested. I – I think I prefer something more…intimate than that.”

Qrow shifted in his chair, staring into his drink. For a moment Ozpin was sure he had said something wrong. Then Qrow lifted his cocktail, draining half of it. 

“Right!” he exclaimed, all positivity. “Well, good thing you know what you’re interested in. It’s a step in the right direction.”

Ozpin glanced at him; Qrow’s tone was off, as if now of all times, he wasn’t saying exactly what he meant.

“You said earlier that you preferred intimacy in relationships,” Ozpin said slowly. “May I ask…what else you tend to look for?”

Qrow remained silent, considering his words carefully, fingers playing with his straw. “Acceptance, I guess. I’m hard to handle, and my lifestyle more so. I need someone okay with the fact that I flirt with guys for a living, that I have sex with others on occasion, that I don’t like being tied down. I struggle with authority, and hate being told I can’t do something. That said, it would be nice to have someone to call home.”

_Home._

That’s all Ozpin _had_ to offer, a home and a sofa and a place where Qrow could be, at the very least, himself, safe from the streets.

The rest didn’t seem that important, details that could be ironed out with time and understanding. Or so Ozpin told himself. They were perfectly opposite in what they wanted, on some level, and yet Ozpin wanted to stay, to hear what they needed from each other.

To try.

“I’m not interested in tying you down – well – no, I mean – ” Ozpin flushed, scrambling to find his meaning. “That is, I like you very much…exactly as you are.” He sank in his seat, reaching for his drink to avoid saying anything else.

“But you wouldn’t mind tying me down to your bed?” This pulled Qrow out of his reverie, his tone amused.

“I – well.” Ozpin took another drink, weighing the opportunity to flirt with the very, very real embarrassment of even considering it. “Not that I would know what to do if I did – but I have some ideas.”

He looked away, toward the bar, the windows, anything that was not Qrow’s smug smirk. 

“You know how to make a guy think with both his heads, Oz. I like you.” 

_I like you._

How easily that made Ozpin’s stomach flutter.

Qrow’s attention darted to a group of giddy men at the opposite end of the bar, a few singing off-key to the song they put on the jukebox. “And on that note, our ride is here. Be right back.” 

He downed the rest of his drink, waved for another, and sauntered over to the group. Ozpin watched Qrow slick his hands through his hair, introducing himself with an ease Ozpin could only imagine, cracking jokes, the group responsive and laughing, the charm evident. The second cocktail arrived and Qrow waved Ozpin over.

 _I don’t know that I’ve had enough to drink for whatever he has planned,_ Ozpin thought, reluctantly rising, draining his cocktail in a single swallow and picking up Qrow’s second. He debated slipping his arm back into Qrow’s as he had before, but he couldn’t be sure of this new atmosphere, and so he managed a small smile for Qrow’s sake, waiting for whatever else Qrow could have possibly schemed.

“Oz, come meet our new friends! This is Jack, it’s his bachelor night, so let’s be sure to show him a good time. I suggested Oasis – they have some of the best drag shows in town.”

Ozpin started when the group offered hoots and hollers as variations of approval.

“Join us!”

“The more, the merrier!”

“They’ll give us a ride, provided I DJ their party bus. You game?”

Ozpin blinked, glancing around at the crowd Qrow had somehow, in the span of a few minutes, ingratiated himself into.

“Oh, well – it’s his bachelor party, after all,” he said, certain that this was just another part of Qrow’s reckless training.

“Atta boy!” A test, of sorts, perhaps – Ozpin allowing himself to be dragged into whatever adventure this was. And he passed, Qrow grinning and grabbing Ozpin around the waist, holding him firmly there, hips touching, Ozpin’s heart lifting at the gesture.

The party bus…was an experience. As it migrated the hills of the city, the music grew more upbeat, the group considerably more intoxicated. Somehow – Ozpin hesitated to ask if it was standard on these types of vehicles – there was a stripper pole erected in the middle of the bus, and it didn’t take long for Qrow to be convinced to demonstrate his abilities, his maligned shirt buttons not surviving. 

By the time they arrived at their destination, Ozpin wasn’t fazed by the announcement of a drag show in his evening plans, thankful for the distraction, but debating the wisdom of more drinks – deciding _yes, please_ when he caught glimpses of Qrow’s shirtless chest and remembering it motion, his body wrapping around the pole like the sheet music on his arm, Ozpin desperately crossing his legs to avoid anyone else noticing his appreciation – 

He descended from the bus in a daze, realizing that someone was speaking to him – Jack? Or was Jack the groom? He couldn’t recall, but the man was asking something and so Ozpin strained to listen.

“Qrow’s pretty great!” he said over the noise, as the other men climbed down the bus steps with varying rates of success.

“Yes,” Ozpin said, eyes already drifting back up to where Qrow still remained on the bus. “He is.”

“How long have you been together?”

“What? Oh,” Ozpin said, flushing. “I – we’re not…”

“No?” The man was a picture of surprise. “My bad. He just mentioned having someone at home, and – well, no offense, but with how you two look at each other, maybe you _should_ be a thing.”

He wandered off to where the drunk groom had finally stumbled out, Qrow holding him up, shooting Ozpin a grin.

And for once, Ozpin was untempted by the amount of bare skin, content to commit that grin – a private moment between them – forever.

The drag show was a blur, drinks and too much laughter, Qrow’s hand moving from the table to Ozpin’s hand, to Ozpin’s leg, squeezing his thigh as they laughed together. It had to end, of course, and Ozpin was greatly sorry for it, not even remotely embarrassed when a drag queen draped a lei over his shoulders after a seductive and decidedly non-traditional hula, blowing him a kiss as she left the stage.

The night air was cool when they left, opting to walk back to Ozpin’s house rather than spoil the effect of a dark starry night and how it made two people feel as if they alone existed in the world.

Oz unlocked the door with effort, laughing too hard to see clearly, he and Qrow bursting through the moment Ozpin turned the knob. He couldn’t even remember why they were laughing; Qrow and one too many drinks had made everything funny, everything warm and happy. The day had been, in a word, unlike anything Ozpin had experienced, uncomfortable at first but ultimately freeing in a way he hadn’t known – and safe, with Qrow always at his side.

Ozpin couldn’t remember when he had laughed so hard, or for so long – certainly not in the month he was with Arthur.

They collapsed on the sofa together, limbs entangled, Ozpin striving to catch his breath, leaning against Qrow as if he had known Qrow for years rather than days.

“I want to thank you,” Ozpin said softly, as their giggles quieted, the soft floral scent of the lei around his neck beginning to waft over the room. “I had a wonderful day. I don’t think I would have ever done something like this without someone to force me into it. So…thank you.”

“Sometimes all you need is a little push.” Qrow nudged him playfully to emphasize the point.

Ozpin hummed. “I think, to a degree, Arthur had that in common with you. He pushed me for dinner, for a date, for a relationship. And I may have wanted those things…but I’m no longer sure I wanted them with him. I just…wanted to be less lonely. And he took advantage of that.” His hand trailed along Qrow’s arm, following the muscles of Qrow’s biceps. “I let him, of course. I was so sure I wanted a partner like me. You…make me doubt that entirely.”

The playful expression faded from Qrow’s face, lips set with something else. “What do I make you want instead?” His voice had dropped, the question somehow private despite the empty house.

“I…I don’t know,” Ozpin said, continuing to trace the veins in Qrow’s arms with his fingertips. “And I think that’s the point. You’re unpredictable. I like not knowing what you have planned, but knowing I’ll be safe, so long as you’re with me.”

“Then you want to keep me?” Qrow asked softly, his face too close to Ozpin’s.

“Can I?” Ozpin murmured. 

Qrow was atop Ozpin, sinking him further into the sofa, lips crushed together, before Ozpin had finished his thought. The warmth, the desire, the need, was overwhelming, and mutual, Qrow clawing off the remains of his torn shirt, then hands deftly flying across Ozpin’s buttons to do the same to his.

_Oh!_

Finally, a proper move, and with such _force,_ Ozpin only reorienting when his head hit the sofa cushion, Qrow’s mouth aggressively pushing his open, Qrow’s hands finishing the pluck of buttons, returning to splay fingers over Ozpin’s chest, a muffled moan when Qrow pinched at one of Ozpin’s nipples. Qrow acted like a man on fire with passion, something Ozpin had previously assumed was something best left to films, but _now -_

Now, with Qrow’s hands simply taking what Ozpin had wordlessly offered all day, his mouth swallowing Ozpin’s desperate panting –

“Q-Qrow,” Ozpin managed, as Qrow let him breathe long enough to suck at Ozpin’s throat. 

“Yeah?” Qrow whispered into Ozpin’s ear, running a tongue along the earlobe.

 _Oh,_ that was new, not something Arthur had ever done, Ozpin squirming against the heat, against the very real reaction his body had to Qrow’s shameless groping.

“I – I’m not the s-sort of person who – ah – ” Ozpin clenched his eyes closed when Qrow’s mouth traveled elsewhere, teeth sinking gently into flesh. “I equate sex with feelings, you see, so I don’t know if I…”

“You know what I am, if you’re willing to take it, then I’m not stopping.” His hand went lower, confident, running a palm lower, lower -

Ozpin arched against him, the moan smothered behind his hand, pleasure running through him. “That’s the p-problem,” he said, his whisper strained. “I like you – very much, more than I think I should – and if I – if we…” He swallowed, reaching to tilt Qrow’s chin up, to meet his eyes. “I’m very much afraid I’m setting myself for another broken heart.”

There were probably better times to have brought this up – perhaps not when Qrow’s hand was _there_ and before Ozpin’s judgment was one more grope away from throwing all caution to the wind and just letting it happen.

“Then let’s date. I can’t promise monogamy, but I can promise priority.” His hands relented, only enough for Ozpin to answer.

It wasn’t the most romantic thing Qrow could have said, and everything suggested that, like his family, Qrow operated in a polyamorous sort of way, and God knew if Ozpin fully understood or knew what to expect, but at this moment, with Qrow’s hands tense on Ozpin’s body, with the flush that permeated through Ozpin’s blood with the want for _more -_

He wanted Qrow, in his rawest form, how Qrow existed as he did now, free and unfettered.

“We’ll need to discuss what that means in detail,” Ozpin whispered, splaying his hands on Qrow’s chest and feeling the pound of Qrow’s heart against his skin. “A partnership – communication – ”

“That’s how it works,” Qrow growled, closing his eyes at Ozpin’s touch. “So am I your fucking boyfriend yet? ‘Cuz I wanna fu – ”

“Close enough,” Ozpin whispered urgently, and kissed him. Qrow spurned back into action, shoving him back against the sofa, and Ozpin finally, _finally,_ let his mind stop overthinking quite so much.

*

Scarlet David hesitated outside of the chemistry lecture hall, shifting from one foot to the next. He had dreaded this all weekend, the moment he would sit down in his usual spot of the lecture hall and make agonizing eye contact with the professor he had accidentally hit on at a gay club.

 _I didn’t even know Professor Pine’s gay,_ Scarlet thought miserably, watching the other students walk into the lecture hall, unconcerned with how in the hell Professor Pine had left The Flaming Cock with the headlining DJ.

Scarlet had always wanted a shot with Qrow Branwen himself – but living in a dorm with three other guys killed the opportunity to offer a place to crash.

_Guess Qrow’s not into younger guys._

The worst night out in a long line of nights out.

“Come on, we’re gonna get shit seats,” Neptune broke in, clapping Scarlet on the shoulder. He paused, peering at Scarlet’s face. “You okay? You look like you’re gonna puke.”

“I’m okay,” Scarlet said, with a weak smile. “I, uh. Look, you can’t tell _anyone_ what I’m about to tell you. Under penalty of death.”

“Oh,” Neptune said, glancing around at the crowd of students. He slung an arm over Scarlet’s shoulder, huddling away from prying ears. “Yeah, no problem. Lay it on me.”

Scarlet took a long breath. “You know how I went out Thursday?”

“Sure, bro. Singles’ night.”

“Well, there was this hot guy at the bar,” Scarlet said, his voice dropping. “Silver fox. Broad shoulders.”

“You do like the old guys with shoulders,” Neptune said reasonably.

“Yeah, well. When he turned around…”

Neptune leaned in closer, all anticipation.

“It was Professor Pine,” Scarlet whispered.

Neptune stared, eyes wide and blank.

“But you can’t tell – ”

_“YOOOO, SUN, SAGE, LISTEN TO THIS – ”_

“NEPTUNE!”

Scarlet chased him into the lecture hall, clamoring past the throngs of other students, hissing vague death threats.

“So you hit on our prof at a gay bar,” Sun Wukong said when the chaos settled, shrugging as Scarlet sat in his seat, hands over his face. “Happens to the best of us. Hey, Sage, what’s the difference between a polysaccharide and a starch again?”

“All starches are polysaccharides, but not all polysaccharides are starches,” Sage recited dutifully. “Scarlet, if he was embarrassed to see you at the bar, he probably won’t make eye contact with you at all. It’ll pass. Just don’t bring it up.”

“Why would I bring it up when you’re all doing it for me?” Scarlet hissed. 

“You think he’s dating a student?” Neptune asked. “Can you get fired for that?”

“Teachers with tenure can do whatever they want,” Sun said. “It’s in their contract.”

“That’s…not how tenure works – ”

“What are the other types of polysaccharides?” Sun interrupted. “Is sucrose one?”

“No, that’s a disaccharide – ”

“Man, I am never gonna learn all this before the exam.”

“He went home with Qrow Branwen,” Scarlet said, leaning back miserably.

“The DJ? Thought his type was…” Sun narrowed his eyes in concentration. “Well. Not a nerdy teacher who wears bowties.”

“Maybe Professor Pine was just offering a place to stay,” Sage said helpfully. “Neptune, you’re supposed to draw that as a Fischer projection – ”

“Oh, shit,” Sun whispered, as Professor Pine arrived, placing briefcase and coffee thermos on the front podium, opening his laptop.

Scarlet risked a quick glance up; Professor Pine didn’t look any different than usual, khaki slacks and a dark green tweed jacket, plaid bowtie tied at his throat, a smile –

He was smiling.

Scarlet sat up a bit, feeling the eyes of his friends on him. No, Professor Pine was _definitely_ smiling, humming faintly as he connected his laptop to the projector. A glance around at his class, and – 

_Oh no._

Scarlet met his eyes with a sinking feeling, but Professor Pine didn’t flinch, or blush, or look remotely uncomfortable. In fact –

“Ah, Mr. David,” he said, with a fresh smile, one that made his eyes crinkle. “Good morning. I hope you had a good weekend.”

Scarlet felt too many eyes now, swallowing audibly. “Er – yeah. Thanks. And you?”

“Oh,” Professor Pine said, the syllable a long, contented sigh. “Wonderful. Just wonderful. I spent it all on an impromptu vacation with my boyfriend, which means I’ve neglected grading, so I’m afraid your quizzes won’t be returned until Wednesday. Now then,” he said to the class as a whole, turning toward the projector screen. “Last week we were discussing polysaccharides – who remembers the name of this one? You can see the individual glucose units connecting in an alpha one to four bond – ”

Scarlet turned wide eyes on his friends.

_Did Professor Pine just out himself to his entire class?_

“Holy shit,” Sun said.

“You said he was…embarrassed to see you at the club?” Neptune whispered.

“Yeah,” Scarlet said.

“So…what changed?”

_Boyfriend?_

Scarlet shrugged, watching Professor Pine’s animated gestures toward the projector.

“Maybe…he’s just happy,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for sticking with us while we explored a very crack-tastic idea! Things ended up less crack-tastic than expected, and we really enjoyed the process.
> 
> We are absolutely sketching out some notes for a sequel, but it'll take some time before we have things fleshed out enough to post a schedule. Please keep an eye out for it in the future! In the meantime, we'll be working to finish our other active WIPs. 
> 
> Cheers, and thank you!
> 
> \- Clocks


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